


Salt: Movement 01 (Paradise; in Twenty Five Hours- the Lost Ones Return!)

by catchandelier



Series: Salt: The Story [1]
Category: One Piece
Genre: AU, Alcohol, Anachronism, Anarchy, Babies, Being Human - Freeform, Daddy Issues, Dancing, Dreams are Dangerous, Drugs, Emotions are Complicated, F/F, F/M, Family, Love is not a cure, M/M, Magic, Mental Illness, Midwifery, Mommy Issues, Moon, Multi, OC insert, Other, Racism, Revolution, Transgender, Trigger: Child Abuse, Trigger: Depression, Trigger: Infanticide, creepy death shit, dysmorphia, fae, perverts, puns, trigger: rape, wild parties thrown by wild party animals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-10-29 18:03:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 25
Words: 258,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10859229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catchandelier/pseuds/catchandelier
Summary: After the Worst Day- A Choice. Death, Awakening, Pirates, The Sea. Sea Change, Sea Kings, Pirate King, Piracy. Who are you now, Mab? Or are you a humble Tailor, after all? A One Piece story that gets written very quickly.Expect: Fanfiction tropes taken to logical extremes. Explorations of the Practical Necessities of Being a Pirate in the World of One Piece. Sex and Romance being Serious Business. Depth. Character interaction. Throwaway lines and gags gaining more significance as the story progresses. Heroes from Other Stories showing up for Reasons. Polyamory. Terrible decisions. Excellent decisions. Childbirth. Memory is a Crapshoot. The Speed of Belief. The Sky is an Ocean. Magic. Miracles. God. Fairies. Faith. Emotions. Souls. Stealth crossovers. Women menstruating and discussing subjects important to them. Puberty. Trauma is not a Free Action. Realistic(ish) depictions of Terrible Actions and their Consequences. Sexism. Black Humor. Fart Jokes. Unshakeable Resolve. Unflappability.A Dream is a Wish your Heart Makes. -If wishes were fishes, how many nets could you bear to weave in the twenty-five hours of the Day?





	1. I believe you can come back from this.

Cold. I’m cold and tired and I don’t- I remember. Something. Is it really my memory?

I remember being so angry; I remember being afraid. I remember what it’s like to feel the world tilt around you, what it feels like to dig six-sevenths of the way through a mountain and then have the spoon you were using break. I’d been many things- once, the world was just a web, and a spider, and so was I- I was [the liar, dressed in white](https://youtu.be/xaGM9wqdalM). I was the one who-

I’ve betrayed it all. What I decided to stand for, myself- everything.

 

_The sound of Mother’s breath_

_Spinning until I was dizzy_

_But I stood tall as Death:_

_Such dances are not easy._

 

“You can answer this, at least;” she said. “You’re more lucid than you were.”

“We both know what this is.” I said.

“Aye; we know. But- that’s why I’m asking. Mab Boudicca; the girl from the seaside, the one who brings the new into the world, the kindest of all- I have to ask. Did you really think it wouldn’t come to this? To you, and to me, and to a moment like this?”  she said.

I remained sitting on the bench. The snow had stopped falling; red maple leaves still clung fiercely to their branches in the bitter cold. In the frozen waters I could see myself, and I could see her, and I could see the gun, too.

 

_We whirled until the books_

_Fell from the study shelf_

_My brother’s countenance_

_Could not unfrown itself._

 

“You’ve had fifteen years to do it. Fifteen years, Mab- and you can’t kill one woman?” she said.

“She’s our mother- and I thought you-?” I said.

“I only made it so that she couldn’t _return here_ and fuck up our country more, _Princess_. You’re the one who has to kill her still. And now- now there’s no more time, don’t you understand? There’s no time left at all!” she said.

I looked down at my hand. My knuckles were pale and white and yellow, like chickenskin with the blood drained out and the feathers plucked, yellow and fatty over the slimy flesh.

 

_The hand that my face had kissed_

_Was bloody to the knuckles_

_And every strike I missed_

_Mother would surely chuckle._

 

“So now, it comes to this- I have to do this. I have to do this or she kills me, and then- I don’t know, Mab.” she said.

“I know. I told you- I **know** what this is. Aye, I know it very well.” I said.

“...There’s a chance you can come back from this. From what I’m about to do- it’s not much of a chance. There can’t be a body, you understand? I’m going to have to-” she said.

“If you’re going to shoot me, Aradia, just shoot me.” I said.

I stared straight ahead.

 

_She cut time upon his back_

_Every lash a fault unlearned;_

_Then, t’was my turn to attack_

_And every strike was earned._  


My breath came out in thin white clouds.

 

_(Winter leaves-_

_Nothing but black lines on white paper_

_And the sound of wind in the rafters.)_

My wings were soft and loose. I looked up, and beheld the stars; many, in a vast and blackening sky. The light was purple and red and orange, fading. The cold was sharp, and sinking deeply into my bones. I could feel the crackle of the chocolate bar’s wrapper in my tightened fists. There was a click. And then a pop, like a firecracker.

The first bullet hit me from behind, and I slowly toppled. The second hit me before I could fall, before there could be any pain. The third hit me and I was cold and my wings were gone and I fell into the stars the stars the stars-

Stars. Endless many. Darkness. Flying apart flying apart falling apart falling drifting falling falling flying falling flailing falling fallen failure failed. Monstrous seed dragon’s tooth passenger spidersnake eel with tethers withers to nothing the dirt is soured and I am spent. Absence where it pulsed, once.

It doesn’t hurt. It’s over now.

I’m done.

It’s done.

 

It's over, isn't it?

 

I’m laying on grass, sharp smell of vegetable crushed beneath me. Open my eyes and blurring green light need glasses can’t see-

Glass weight on my face a moment later. Plastic frames black. Dew sparkles on green grass, clear and pale and realer than anything realer than me realest dew on green grass that I knew before and now I push myself up onto my hand- hands- cold touch of dew on skin. Wet. Dew on my lip lick it off- sweet, the taste.

It’s a glade, green and sunlit and there is no sky or horizon but there is light and a glade and in the distance, a woman. I stand, naked- but I don’t want to be naked- my pajamas. I’m wearing my pajamas. From before- everything. No shoes but I don’t mind.

The grass is warm and wet beneath my feet and the light is warm on my skin and the grass is green and the dew is cold and the light is blinding and the woman is wearing white. She is tall and has dark hair falling and I walk towards the woman, and there is no wind and the smell of flowers and warm cat fur, and the soft shrieks of cicadas somewhere far away and-

It’s. My Mother?

 

“Oh, mati mou. To mati mou.”

“Mom? -mommy?”

“I’m here, Mab. I’m here.”

I hug the woman. It’s her. It’s my Mom.

There’s less dew when I open my eyes. We’re sitting in tall grasses, and crickets are starting to call. Mom strokes my hair.

 

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“You’ll come back here, with me- eventually- but it’s not time yet.”

 

I look up at her. Something drips down my face her face blurs and something drips down my face warm salt dew. Wet.

 

“Oh, to mati mou, I know- I know you’re tired. But you’re not done yet.”

“Mom?”

“You hardly got a chance at all… Well. I won’t stand for that. Neither will your Puck.”

“Mommy- please. Please don’t send me back, I- I can’t.”

“I’m not sending you back there. I’m sending you somewhere else.”

“Where?”

“...On. On an Adventure. Yes, that’s what I’ll do.”

“To die would be an awfully big adventure.”

 

My mom smiles.

 

“Living’s the biggest Adventure of all.”

 

The dew is gone.

  


We float on gossamer wings and fall and my mom lets me go-

I fall through stars again but they’re mom’s stars mom’s giving me something wrapping me swaddled in starstuff and light and I fall.

Aches and pains fade and vanish.

Sounds rush back from that soundless place.

I have two arms again and they are mine. I never lost my arm. My wings are gone. How do I swim without wings? I fall into waves of something liquid but it is not water because I am breathing and I open my mouth to taste and it tastes of all the things I’ve done. Despite everything, I swallow, and darkness rises to claim me and drags me- down-

There is a forest, trees dappling the light green- blue green and the smell of the sea. I slam into a rock, starpoints cluttering the world beneath me. A wave smacks my jaw into stone and I am suddenly awake and it hurts and I am alive.

 

 

I am so tired.

I am not what I was.

I am alive.

I could just let go, but- the water’s very cold. I am so tired- but I’d rather die warm. Or quick. The stone I’m clinging to is part of a cliff.

 

I climb.

 

The clifftop has a lighthouse. I’m too tired to care.

I close my eyes and water drips off of me onto the rough stone beneath me and the sun is warm and the sky is blue and I’m just so- tired-

My name is- no. No, I don’t deserve a name anymore. Mab Boudicca, Princess of the Fae, surely doesn’t exist any more. I’ve become someone I don’t understand at all.


	2. Lighthouse at the Beginning of the World

I wake up in a bed, with an old man watching me. My lips are cracked and my head itches and there is a bone deep ache all through me that radiates from my shoulders- it cracks white hot with each breath but I barely have the strength to keep my eyes open. I go back to sleep.

I wake again, and the old man helps me to the toilet and back to the bed. I go back to sleep.

I wake again, and the old man helps me take a shower. His manner is clinical, and his fingertips are firm yet gentle when he washes my hair. He is careful when he combs it out, and he trims it neatly. It’s shorter than it was before, but I feel only a sort of buzzing. I should be- more something. Enraged? Embarrassed? Nothing. Numbness. 

Re-bandaging my back is the work of those lucid moments, and draws from me no more than a hiss of pain. I go back to sleep.

I wake, and the old man gives me a clear broth. It smells of seaweed. I can barely lift the duck spoon to my mouth, and I drop the spoon after three tries. My hand is shaking; my shoulders burn. The old man feeds me after that. I go back to sleep, but he starts waking me up for more broth.

 

I have started eating solid foods. It’s mostly rice and curry. The old man has also started talking to me. I barely understand what he’s saying. I barely want to.

 

I’ve started on fruits and vegetables. I’ve also started physical therapy. Everyday it feels like the old man finds a new way to make my limbs ache. My shoulders have started to hurt less, but I feel lopsided. Sometimes it feels like I’m not missing them at all, but then a sharp crack of white-sharp pain races through me and the retort of a bullet echoes. It hurts.

Everything hurts, but I can move a little more every day. I’m getting stronger.

 

 

The old man’s name is Crocus.

  
  


Crocus gave me new glasses. He said my old ones were broken; said the glass was cracked. They fit and I can see clearly now. These glasses are very round. Crocus says they’re the only frames he has, one of his spares- says he picked up lens grinding a while back; says if I want something else, something prettier, I’ll have to get them myself. I’m quite happy with these though. They’re nothing like my old pair at all. I know how he got my prescription, he- Ow.

 

One day, I hear something. A great being sobbing; an ocean’s worth of pain. I can’t stop crying and I don’t know why. It hurts. It hurts.

Crocus has started making me sit outside. He says that the sunlight and the fresh air will do me good. I don’t know if I believe him.

Laboon is a whale the size of a small island. He is the one who cries at night. Sometimes, I cry with him. I’m starting to remember why.

It hurts. It hurts.

 

There’s a snail on the table I sit next to everyday. It has it’s own little tray, and a bowl of green leafy something that it munches on. I can walk by myself now, even though I’m slow. It’s getting warmer, and I’m considering asking Crocus for something else to wear- something that isn’t a nightgown. The snail is wearing a rotary phone rig and a pair of glasses and has a beard. And it’s- thinking. I can hear it thinking, I can feel it thinking. It’s mind- it’s in that place right before you fall asleep, dark behind your eyes but thoughts fluttering like broken signal flags in the wind. I can feel other creatures, too- crabs and shrimp and krill. Miles and miles of them. No, out here it’s kilometers.

A seabird calls out. Waves crash. Salt spray on the wind and the buzzing of flies. Laboon is glaring down the great waterfall again, like it did him a personal wrong. Crocus isn’t going to be happy with him.

I reach out and stroke the shell of the- snail phone. Mollusc slime coats my finger tips where they touch flesh and information ricochets through my mind a cascade roils and froths and I am afraid, I am afraid- I- I- I-

Crocus is hugging me. He’s holding my hands, squeezing hard, harder, hardest, letting go; my back is to his chest, the sharp agony of anything touching my shoulders warring with the sensation of being held and my head is under his chin and he’s counting and I’m crying. Why am I crying?

It hurts.

 

I’ve started exploring the cape. There’s another cape across the waterfall, and I can feel many more bugs than are here. I can feel more than I can see. I think most of them- the bugs- are in the water. I’m not sure yet how I know they’re bugs. They are bugs, though. Crocus is teaching me to read. I’m getting better at it every day, but I’m not sure five alphabets are really necessary. I touched the snail phone again and didn’t have a panic attack. So... that’s what mild telepathy looks like in physiology, I guess; maybe radio waves? I am not where I once was. I am not who I once was. I don’t understand who I am now, but I am not who I was.

 

There are a pair of lumps- flesh and withering muscle pulled over thin bones, flaps of skin healing smooth and thick with scar tissue. Every day I do physical therapy, I can’t help exercising what I don’t have anymore. Sometimes I would swear that I do have my wings still; both pairs of almond shaped sails, the slim rudder that could throw me from hither to yon, all gossamer and oil slick rainbow scales like wavering glass. They were my pride and joy, besides my hair- I have a mannish figure, but my wings- they were glorious. Curved and soft to the touch, but strong; I out-flew everyone. They were mine, but they’re gone now. It hurts.

This world is not what I remember but- I think. I’m okay with that. I do not remember the water moving such- no waves, no storms. There were no waves, and no storms, the water was smooth and black like glass-Ow. And yet-

 

Crocus gave me new clothes today. The pants don’t really fit right, and the shirt is very ugly- I don’t like the loud tropical print, and it’s bright glaring colors. I could make better clothes, but- I. Maybe later. They’re loose enough that my- missing- wings are not pained with a random touch of indelicate cloth. I’m not crying as much anymore, but Laboon is very sad and I don’t know why. I ask Crocus about it.

 

“Old man- why is the whale crying?”

“He misses his friends.”

“Ah.”

 

I don’t miss my friends. It’s hard not to have some sort of feeling about where you came from- but. I don’t miss it at all. Or rather, I don’t miss it enough to ever want to return. Them. It. Them- Ow.

 

“I did a terrible thing. It was the only thing I could do- but it was terrible. It killed me, in the end.”

Crocus grunted.

“Will you help me write some letters?”

“...Sure, brat.”

 

Crocus has terrible handwriting, but he writes everything I have to say. He burns the letters when I ask him to. I’m not sure if I feel better having done it, but I certainly feel. Different. I remember reading a pamphlet about grief once- it was an exercise in the mass printed paper in the doctor’s office, the one I went to after Puck- It didn’t work for me before, not really.

It hurts, but better now. Like a scab. Like a bruise.

I guess the reason it didn’t work before is because there wasn’t really anyone to write to. I gave him a name, and brought him up out of the blood and the waters- and he did not breathe. 

 

Crocus says that it’s time to clean the lighthouse and I’ve been freeloading long enough. I’m helping him, I guess. I’ve washed all the windows around the light and they are clear blue now instead of smoky. I knocked dried salt off the roof into a canvas sack. Crocus says it’s valuable. I’ve started gaining muscle tone, and I’m hungry at mealtimes now. My hair is still curly and brown, and my mouth is still wide. I’m as tall as my mother was, and my face is my father’s. I’ve never met my father, but my mother says I got my height and my build and my face and my eyes from him. He’s why I need to wear glasses. Crocus has started telling me about the world- the ocean, and places he’s been. He seemed contemplative when I said I looked like my dad.

I found a colony of spiders beneath the lighthouse light, and learned something interesting- I can change their shape. What I mean is- I took them all and transformed them into different spiders, spiders that will weave stronger silk. They’re silvery brown, like dried salt on a golden beach; they have long thin legs and small glittering eyes. I couldn’t do that before, and- I’m not. Afraid. The information- intuition- in my mind… It’s all about bugs. When I had my wings, I could do- more. I think I could do more. I am smaller, now. My balance is not wrong- but it is not the same.

I went to school to learn this- ow.

Crocus told me to take care of his herb garden; it’s full of flowering plants I don’t know the names of, bushes and grasses and things with their own powerful stenches; gourd plants, and bees. I like bees. I found a wasp nest by the door; I like wasps, too. I like that bees make honey. I like that wasps can sting more than once and that it hurts to get stung by a wasp. So… I combined them. There’s a hive of honeyjackets in the herb garden now. They make wax and honey and winding coils of paper that go flat when soaked in seawater and left to dry. They’re aggressive and nearly entirely female and they killed a rat last week. They tore it apart and devoured it’s flesh. Their honey is only edible when they are cultivated in a hive.

 

The gourds make nice water bottles for me and for Crocus; they make lovely cages for sea crickets too. I remembered how to weave cloth. The spiders did the weaving for me. I have a tunic now- it’s better than the shirt Crocus gave me but the off-white color of undyed silk is very plain. I can do better. I think it’ll be easiest to make the spider silk come out colored from the start, and I only really need four colors; the off white is kinda charming as it is, when viewed next to colored cloth. Making a carrying belt for the water bottles and the crickets was pretty simple after that. I made gourds into portable hives for the honeyjackets, the wasps, the bees, even an ant colony that seemed agreeable to the idea of living in a gourd. I’ve started making rope rigging for the hives; the gourds are exceptionally large specimens in the standard drinking bottle style- meant for full casks of wine or something similar- and they stack together in pairs. I make a rig that secures their openings in four directions, and another that secures the two pairs of gourds to each other in a larger variety of the same. It all shakes out to be about the height of my shoulder when I sit; four humming gourds covered over in distinctive patterns of spider silk based off of each type of bug in each hive and sealed with beeswax.

These details don’t matter all that much, but they make me feel better to know them.

I made myself new pants that fit better. I made myself start jogging laps around the cape. I made myself ask Crocus about the dusty boxes in the cupboard under the lighthouse stairs. Crocus told me that the boxes were from previous owners, and to go through them. I think he’s lying, but I don’t call him out on it. I made myself remember the fact that I can’t have children anymore- not that it's physically impossible, but After- Puck was the only one that was Born of me, and he did not live. Maybe it all went wrong because I gave him a name before I pulled him up from the red waters?

My reaction alone- no. No more. My other- Ow.

 

One box under the stairs is full of parts to something, and instructions. The instructions are for a sewing machine. The sewing machine is beautiful, with enameled flowers in… art nouveau style, I think. The flowers are pink and yellow and blue, and decorative leaves coiled in warm rose gold swirls. The instructions also say how to collapse the machine, and turn the attached sewing desk into a traveling trunk and storage case. I steadily go through the boxes and find the foot, and the collapsible desk with drawers that turn into watertight boxes and the boxes are full of vibrant threads and buttons of all kinds. There are heavy books of patterns, and instructions on how to sew a sail and weave proper rope and- I think. I like art deco more than art nouveau; there’s a crumbling scrapbook of style designs, with color notations and guides for making jewelry. The deco ones really catch my eye. There is a pattern for a dress that can be tied on eight different ways. There is a pattern for different kinds of gloves. There are patterns for shoes, and socks, and boots. Hats and coats and sandals and scarves and- Every day, I go through a new box. I copy patterns and instructions exactly onto paper that isn’t falling apart. Crocus knows how to bind books, and has been binding my copies together into a big tome for me. He even came up with hard back covers for me, and taught me how to add pages to the book or start a whole new one if needed.

 

One day, there are only two boxes left. The second to last box has patterns as usual, but these are for- fighting. These are Kata for armed and unarmed combat. I make myself start going through the martial arts skills I know. I make myself start building strength in my body. Crocus starts sparring with me. The old man is really strong. I want to beat him in a spar at least once. I don’t, of course, but I want to. Sometimes my gone wings burn and I know- I know that if I had them still, I could- but. They’re gone. I feel them still but they are gone. It hurts.

According to him the martial arts scroll bits I found in the last box are a secret government style. I told him that I got most of my appearance from my father; but my mother was taller than most men, and had a relatively small bust. Crocus said that if my father was who he thought, it would be best for me to learn this style. Apparently it’s actually six different styles- or it’s possibly techniques, I wasn’t actually all that interested at the time; and I need to learn them in order, or something. I’ve noticed he’s never actually told me what the hell any of these moves actually do, or even which name goes with what move; he’s just trained me in very specific ways. If I had to name them though, I’d call them: Drift, Cricket Jump, Mantis Leg, Finger Punch, Blink, and Steel Shell. Apparently, when all six get combined, they turn into a super move or something, which sounds a bit like bullshit to me, but I kinda want to call the eventual super move Shrimp Hammer. I am of course referring to the mantis shrimp’s marvelous punching skills. According to the most moth eaten part of the scroll, the ultimate super move of the style creates a powerful shockwave which blasts enemies away.

 

Crocus makes really good liniment cream; he gave me three cases of the stuff in wooden cases stamped with tigers in white, red, and blacks ink. The black one is strongest, and the white one is for headaches. He also taught me how to wrap my hands, even if my normal fighting style isn’t really punch-heavy. I actually relearned how to Blink- it had a different name Before that escapes me now, but I used my wings to move faster than the eye could see. I can do the same now, but it’s harder.

 

The last box doesn’t have any more patterns in it. Just a metal flute in a latched case, a few books of music, the collapsed metal bones of some kind of backpack, and a Kusarigama wrapped in canvas. There’s a beginners workbook with flute exercises written out and a handwritten song called “Bink’s Sake” on the back endpaper. I’m glad I made handkerchiefs, because my tears would have damaged the books.

When I’m not training or getting my condition back, I teach myself the flute. I relearn the skill of making a heavy weight on the end of a chain move exactly as I want. I relearn the trick to setting my swarms of bugs on tasks while carrying out my own; I learn that I can alter the behavior of the bugs under my control. I do so to the spiders and make a fifth hive, which eventually replaced the original spider hive; a queen spider, and her many vassals who will eventually be replaced by her daughters and sons. Whole days start blurring together; my spiders make cloth and take cloth apart and recycle the threads. As they begin to learn various weaving patterns, their speed increases; I start learning what each of the cloth types does. I train with Old Man Crocus every morning and spend every afternoon practicing the flute. I break the days up by practicing assembling and disassembling the sewing machine, jogging with it on and off my back, puzzling out how the structured bag must have fit together, and sewing patterns from the Pattern Tome. After a while, I have a wardrobe of clothing. My wings burn less and less, until finally I am left only with a deep longing for the sky.

 

My wardrobe is in mostly reserved warm browns, with splashes of sharper color- a tan ranging from pale to deep amber with shots of gold or vermilion- in deco patterns; pants, tunics, cloth boots, and my hoodie. A long dress, and a short one. I added a hoodie pattern with a few variations- after I made myself a hoodie that wasn’t crap. I also stabbed myself a bunch. After one too many days of my hair getting in my face, I made myself a headband. Since I kept losing them, I made a lot. I finally figured out the structured pack when I stopped trying to make it work with the sewing machine trunk. Making a duffle bag, in comparison, was much easier. Actually, the structured pack became much easier when I turned it into crabag.

Crabag was a massive crab I rescued from Laboon’s stomach- she had long, grasping legs and her back was covered in barnacles. I learned how much I could alter on a bug in one go while making her- small changes, like color, are pretty easy. Bigger changes, like turning barnacles into inert spinnerets or gradually altering the shape of a bug’s carapace to more cleanly fit onto my back causes something akin to a pressure headache. Huge changes, like integrating spinnerets to the internal systems of the crab, adding antennae, increasing eyes, adding spinning legs for the spinnerets- those result in the kind of migraines that make sleep impossible and everything in life a terrible burden. I try not to flash-change anything if terrible migraines like that are what waits for me; the first crab becomes an egg, and major changes are much easier to implement in the egg stage. I still give myself headaches if I try to do too many changes in one go- but even an entirely new kind of brain function or a rim of eyes and feeler nubs never gives me the kind of migraine figuring out how to create them at all did. Eventually, Crabag can scuttle under her own power at a reasonable clip and all my clothes and spiders fit inside her back-bag pretty easily; making her not lose speed when encumbered is a matter of training. There are protrusions for each of the gourd hives to be tied on with a sleek cord I made- it’s paracord, really, it just doesn’t have bright patterns on the outside as commercial cordage does.

How do I know- Ow.

(I’m not so vain as I was, anymore. I keep my hair cut short. I don’t think I’ll ever be a beautiful woman- or rather, I don’t need long hair to be a beautiful woman. I needed it for something else- ow. Let my clothes fit my form; let my back be straight, and tall. Confidence and joy mean more to me now than my physical appearance does. Overall, my image isn’t terribly important anymore.)

  
  


One day I play “Binks Sake”. Laboon starts singing along. I think that’s what he’s doing, I mean. Every time I practice my flute after that he sidles up to the cape and starts eyeing me meaningfully. I’m probably enabling him, but I play the song at the end of every practice session. The days get longer, and one night I look out at the night sky and realize there are three distinct moons out.

 

“Old man, how many moons are there?”

“There are nine of the little bastards, brat.”

“Ah.” I’m quiet for a moment. “What month is it, anyway?”

“June, brat.”

“Oh. My birthday’s July 12th. I guess that makes me almost nineteen.”

Crocus grunts. “Don’t expect any gifts, brat.”

“Like I was, Old man.” I glance at him sidelong. “How long have I been here, anyway?”

“Almost two years.”

“Oh.” I think about it. Crocus raises an eyebrow at me. “...I might actually be nineteen right now, then. Last I remember, I was eighteen. So-” I shrug. “I’ll call this next one twenty.”

Crocus grunts again.

 

I go back into the house, and grab my flute.

Golden Slumbers folds into Binks Sake pretty easily. Sea crickets provide a pretty good chorus section. Laboon smiles at me when I’m finished playing. Crocus smiles too, but he pretends he didn’t when I look at him. A few days before my birthday, I realize the reason Crocus calls me brat is because he doesn’t actually know my name.

 

“Hey, Old Man Crocus-”

“Brat?”

“I’m Tailor.”

“Tailor?”

“Yeah.”

 

He grunted, but I could see him thinking about something. My birthday is like any other day, except Crocus gives me a turquoise scarab pendant with “Tailor” inscribed on the back. I manage to thoroughly embarrass us both by giving him a hug. Laboon laughs at us. His laughter is like thunder. The pendant isn’t the only thing he gives me; there’s a much younger Den Den Mushi- the proper name for the snail phone- too, a wallet and coinpurse full of the money of the world- beri-, and a pair of thick-soled waterproof cavalier boots. I could tell he was going to bring up my future soon. He explained the berri system of money, which I had never used before, and how best to haggle with it that same day; apparently, the beri runs in denominations of one, five, one hundred, and five hundred coins; the paper money runs in thousand, five thousand, and ten thousand strips- I guess. They really are just strips of paper with some kind of cloth inside. We had money back on Fairisle, but- after- We didn’t. I didn't. Not like beri, anyway.

 

The pirates he approved of me going with were swallowed by Laboon about three days later.


	3. Buzz

The crew’s nice, if a bit odd. We introduced ourselves just before leaving for the first island on our route. 

I secured my hives in the aft gun deck, below the kitchen; and then we set sail.

 

I cannot kill unarmed prisoners. I shouldn’t cover them in angry honeyjackets. But I swear, if they make one more snide comment-

 

“Ah. Nami, do you want me to cover these poaching assholes in live spiders? It’s no trouble.”

Nami looks at me for a moment, possibly to gauge my seriousness. I don’t joke about covering people in live bugs.

Then she smiles.

“Oh, Tailor. If they don’t get to work helping us sail through this bullshit, go right ahead~!”

“Alrighty.”

 

The yelps that come from the two assholes when I escort them out onto the main deck with firm, cool hands on their shoulders probably shouldn’t send such a burst of glee through me. Then again, it might be the gang of high volume output (HVO) sailspinners that is clinging to my shoulders, upper back, and forearms that caused the outcry. The hail that immediately starts pelting us, coming down in clear cold rock-lump bursts of pain from a clear blue-green sky is somehow fitting for the irritating absurdity. I immediately hunch over, HVO sailspinners scuttling under my shirt.

I’m helping Usopp tie the sails down securely when I hear a wooden snap. I don’t realize I’ve stepped directly onto Zoro’s face until much later; at the time, I was entirely focused on not letting our anchor fall into the sea. Somehow, it’d sheared right through a part of the railing and broken a large piece of another, which was the wooden snap I heard. I blinked, Blinked, and threw the weighted end of my kusarigama’s chain around the crossbar of the anchor. It wrapped and looped around gracefully, and then I was screaming in a combined sort of agony and rage because this fUCKING PMS BULLSHIT WEATHER BREAKING OUR SHIP OW OW FUCKING OW-

Zoro’s hands grip the chain in front of mine, and it’s that sudden easing of weight that lets me realize that I’ve been shouting aloud. He smells like oil soap and hot metal. He pulls the anchor back up onto the deck-

 

“I’ve got it from here- go help Usopp, he can’t hold the mainsail alone!”

“On it!” He lets go of the chain, and runs to help Usopp.

 

I let the chain drop from my arms, and wrap it back around my waist. I wasn’t kidding when I said I could handle it; the angle was too awkward for me to pull it back onto the deck, but Zoro did that for me. The HVO sailspinners, under my direction, lash the anchor to the deck. They also lash the broken part of the railing to the deck, because I don’t want to lose it or have it trip or even stab someone.

Sanji feeds us rice balls for lunch, which is helpful because we can eat them with one hand. Nami directs us with all the ferocious passion of a general going hammer and tongs; icebergs, fog banks, rains of live frogs, and flower petals are some of the highlights of that first spastic moment on the Grand Line proper.

We all settle into dinner eventually, a tired and bedraggled gang of pirates- except for the poachers.

  
  


“Ah. Where are the poachers?”

“Mnh, they’re eating outside, Tailor.” Usopp sounds particularly exhausted. I’m having crabag bring us some bandages, towels, a change of clothes for myself, and my liniments. It clatters into the dining room, and scuttles into my quickly vacated spot. Crabby hands me a towel, which I use to squeeze the water from my hair. I drape warm towels over everyone at the table, to general appreciation. Sanji does another weird swoon when I drape a warm towel around his shoulders, so I pick him up bodily and move him to the side where he won’t get in the way before going back to Crabby. I let the sailspinners march down my arm to my place setting on the table. Before my arms start throbbing too badly, I peel my soaked tunic off and put on a light grey halter top with Bayadere stripes just across my bust. The colors are cyan, yellow, and white in various widths. Sanji was wiping his face when I changed shirts, and seems disappointed about something. Nami has raised an eyebrow, and Usopp is slumped onto the table. I think he passed out.

My arms have really started throbbing, so I take a look at them- equidistant mottling from where my kusarigama’s chain dug into my arms. Seems about right.

  
  


Fucking Grand Line bullshit.

“Amen to that.” Nami is a very exhausted sort of smug. The Log Pose gleams on her wrist.

“Mmmnmmm.” Usopp groans directly into the table.

Zoro grunted. Sanji chuckled. Luffy’s ‘shishishi’ is muffled by the towel he’s currently got his entire head, sans hat, cocooned in.

I said that out loud.

 

“I have liniment and bandages, if anyone wants any?”

“Mmm?”

“I’ll take some, Tailor-kun <3 !”

“Sure.”

“Do you have anything for headaches, Tailor?”

“Ah, use the white one Nami- Sanji can apply his himself because he’s still doing the thing and- anyway. Sorry for stepping on your face earlier, Zoro. I can put some ointment on it if you’d like?”

“I’ve got it, s’all right. Help Usopp instead.”

“Ah, okay. Usopp, if I get your shoulders with the extra strength, will you get mine?”

“Mmmnmm.”

 

Usopp gives an abbreviated nod, then cringes and whimpers when he tries to take his shirt off too quickly. Poor guy. I wrap Luffy in a giant beach towel when he starts annoying the HVO sailspinners and Crabby, then grab the black tiger balm and help Usopp peel off his shirt.

While smoothing the liniment into his skin, I notice that he’s actually rather tan. I also notice that I’m maybe half a shade away from his skin color, which was not the case before. I didn’t really tan before. Or maybe it was really Before? It doesn’t matter either way. Usopp is very gentle spreading the ointment over my shoulders, and Crocus’ mastery of medicine is such that the soothing heat is sunk deep in my aching muscles mere seconds after he wipes the salve on. Nami lets out a soft sigh of appreciation, and Zoro seemed to like the sensation on his rather spectacular facial bruise.

Sanji seems disappointed, and a bit creeped out. I’m only winding bandages around my arms, so I’m not sure what the problem is; the HVO sailspinners are curled up in a pile of pudgy bodies and spindly legs. They worked hard today. I’m glad I decided to quadruple their web-dope capacity; they could physically spin more web if absolutely necessary, but I don’t really want to make them. Not until I have to, anyway.

 

“Tailor-kun, um- could you keep your bugs out of my kitchen and off the table?”

“Ah. Sure Sanji, no problem. Um- is it okay if the honeyjackets hunt down any mice or rats? I’ve already had the pest bugs on the ship feed themselves to the spinners, but, um-”

“They hunt down rats!? Wait, what’s a honeyjacket?”

“Ah! Um, well- Honeyjackets are one of the first bugs I made. They’re a cross between honeybees and paper wasps, although I guess with the carnivorism it’s really parchment… Maybe I should call them parchment wasps... Um, they have all the sting of a wasp, they just make wax, honey, and parchment too? A-anyway, their soldiers have phenomenal senses of smell and working in groups they can hunt down, capture, kill, and butcher small animals. Although I think if the attack swarm was big enough, they’d totally be able to kill a man… Oh, um, they’re also super duper aggressive, so when I set up their hives, don’t go past the safety line without me. I mean, don’t you ever go past the safety line without me.”

“Ah. W-well, um. They’re under your control for sure?”

“Yep. Um, i-if they bother you, I can direct them personally? You could supervise? They’re good pollinators, like bees- um. Also, the parchment they make is totally useable as paper, it’s just a little tricky to harvest...”

“Erm. Y-yeah! Sure, I’d like that.”

“Okay. You’ll have to let me know when the best time is.”

“Alright, I will. Thank you for being so understanding, Tailor-kun.”

“Tailor, you’re saying we have a source of free parchment now?” There are beri signs shining in Nami’s eyes.

“Well, no, not really. We have to feed them meat for them to make parchment, and if we do that, they won’t make honey- honey we can eat, I mean. It’s not good for the hive to make lots of parchment- it’s too much work for them.”

 

I faintly smile at Sanji, who gives a genuine smile back. I like it much better than his exaggerated swoons and weirdo pervert dance. I think I might have said that out loud, because he sort of tipped over in a blushing faint after that. I move the tired spinners from my place setting to Crabby’s back. I’ll have to feed them some tidbits from my dinner. They seem to enjoy the bits of fish I separate out for them, even if seeing them eat from my fingertips makes Sanji cringe a little every time he looks my way. That was a remarkably short faint. Maybe he’s anemic? That causes fainting, I think… No one can have so little blood volume in their body, so I don’t think it’s a pressure issue... Or at least it shouldn’t be. I don’t think blushing is actually caused by blood flow anyway, I’m pretty sure it’s actually a system of chromatophores and involuntary micromuscles. Nami is giggling, and Sanji is blushing again.

 

I think I might have a very poor brain to mouth filter.

“You do.” everyone says in unison, except for Usopp, who’s still a little worn out from today. He does nod into the table, though. Well, it’s nice to have confirmation on these things.

I grab Usopp’s plate so he doesn’t have to move his arms too much, and pass both of ours off to Zoro, who sat next to me. Luffy tried to steal food from me but I landed a honeyjacket on his nose and gave him the eye. Of course, I didn’t actually look at him, as that would be encouraging.

 

Oh my that’s a lot of beetles we’re coming up on.

  
  


“What do you mean?” asks Nami.

“Ah- well, I have a specific range of arthropod influence, is all. We must be getting close to an island. We’ll probably get there in… mm, maybe three or four days?”

“...Tailor, how big is your range of influence?”

“Well, when I was younger it was about three or four city blocks total… Um, I guess two and a half acres? I think I can feel a whole island, now. Er, a whole island’s worth of bugs, that is. So… my range now is a few kilometers square? Three or four, maybe? I know I used to have to use relay bugs to boost my signal out farther- I don’t seem to need them anymore...”

There’s a long moment when everyone at the table tries to understand the sheer size of my range.

“What exactly do you feel?”

“The bugs…?” Nami’s face doesn’t look like it’s seeing the light of understanding.

“Ah. I can sense them as whole swarms, as individuals; I can see, smell, hear, taste, and feel through their senses. I can sense every arthropod in existence- from creatures like ants and flies and earthworms, to creatures like crabs and krill and octopuses and Den Den Mushi. I can feel how tired my sailspinning spiders are, and how much they’ll have to rest before they’ll comfortably spin web again; I can feel the overall discomfort of the honeyjacket hive, and how they’ll be acclimated to the salty sea air and rocking ship motion in a few days. I can even feel how scared and uncomfortable Crabby gets when Luffy tries to play with her claws- if you want to play with her, Luffy, scratch very lightly on the shell between her big eyes, and when she starts moving away, let her go.” Whoops, some of my bug voice leaked there.

“Sorry Crabby!”

“...Is there a limit to how many bugs you can sense at one time?”

“Not really. Oh! Question: what’s the duck number for Going Merry’s sails, and her rigging strength?”

“Seven, and twelve to fourteen. You weren’t kidding about being a scout.”

“No. I wasn’t.” I look at her for a moment. “I wasn’t always a pirate. I wasn’t always a seamstress, even.” A faint smirk tugs my mouth up.

Nami smirks back, and inclines her head towards me. “What can you tell us about the island we’re coming up on?”

“Well… the arthropod population is pretty low, actually, and what is there is all stone desert. Centipedes, scorpions, lots of beetles- actually, too many beetles. I’m not sure what they’re eating; I’ll know for sure by tomorrow morning what their natural behaviors are. Spiders, too.”

“Too many, or you don’t know what they’re eating?”

“Yes. I suppose they might be eating the beetles, but again- I can’t tell yet. But there should be a wider variety of arachnids at least- more than the small-type scorpion I can feel, the spiders... There should also be honey bees, but I can’t feel any at all. It might be a distance thing, but I’m not so sure. Alright- tentative three types of beetles, but there’s way too many of one kind and very few of the other two. And there are more species that are outright missing- there should be cicadas, dragonflies, moths, ants, crickets, flies- but there aren’t. There aren’t even any sea crickets. That could just be an island oddity, but- no. It’s not.”

“Aren’t deserts usually pretty empty?”

“On our scale, yeah- but on the micro scale, where bugs live? It’s lively. Or it should be. There are very, very few places in all the world where there are no bugs- if there are people, you can bet there are bugs for sure.”

“After breakfast tomorrow, will you tell me more about the island’s ecosystem?”

“Sure!”

“Eh? But that’s usually when I have time to, um-”

“Ah! Sanji, it’s okay, I can still supervise- um. You guys do realize I’ve been supervising the weaving of sails and rigging this whole day, right?”

“EH?!?” Usopp actually vocalized for that one. The tiger balm must be working on him.

“Yeah, um. If it’s a task or something, once I’ve figured out, I can set my bugs on it and sort of- like shuffle it to the back of my head? It’s really hard to explain this stuff when I don’t actually use words for most of it...”

“So basically you’re really good at multi-tasking.”

“Basically, I’m the best at multi-tasking there is, Sanji.” Sanji grins a little, then blushes when I smile back. I wish he wasn’t so sensitive- I’d like to be friends, and it’s kinda hard when the other person could faint at any sign of positive interaction. It’s hard enough talking to people some days, having people faint when you do is just disheartening.

“Ah. Nami- do you want me to make relay flies again and boost my signal, or do you want me to get a better fighting arsenal started? I’m going to do both, but- which would you like more first? I don’t really have a preference.”

“Hmm. I’d like more information, actually. Relay flies, please.”

“Okay.”

 

Relay flies turn out to be based heavily off of damselflies. They have pink thoraxes, and long thin abdomens with blue ringing the tip. Six legs, two sets of wings, like a dragonfly. They allow me much greater range and more precise understanding of what I’m seeing. Burial Beetles. The main specie that I can sense the natural behaviors of that’s currently thriving on the island we’re coming up on is a varietal of Burial Beetle that butchers carrion and buries the flesh in cairns of stone. Their larvae mature in those cairns, and grow by eating the decaying remains and other nymph stage burial beetles. There are no bees, so they aren’t eating animals that eat seeds or sip sap. If there were grains that pollinated by wind, there would be crickets or grasshoppers. There aren’t. The arachnids are not doing terribly well; the beetles tend to get too big for their webs, claws, and venom to be effective.

We’re going somewhere bad.

 

“Yeah.” Nami is frowning into her hand, the tea Sanji made for us both lightly steaming on the table.

 

A sharp squeal rings out, and a large rat runs screaming from somewhere in his kitchen, then collapses, shuddering and thrashing. Triumphant honeyjacket soldiers shred their way out of it’s stomach with a faint red splurt; a secondary team of soldiers buzzes down to join the fray. There’s a bit of flailing, and blood spatters in thin arcs from the rat’s tail. There is a final, meaty snap.

 

Sanji watches with a strange combination of disgust, fascination, and satisfaction on his face.

 

“I’ll have them clean up the blood too, alright?”

“Mm. Thank you, Tailor-kun.”

“That one was beneath the stove. The soldiers report that all other trails are very faded, but are checking them anyway. I’ll help you wash everything.”

“Uhm, you don’t-”

“That was a declarative statement. The proper response is gracious acceptance. I need to see you move around in your clothes anyway- I only have very general patterns for clothing, and I don’t actually know what you like or need in your clothes. I also need to know what the actual usage volume is of our linens- kitchen towels, napkins, regular towels, blankets and sheets, and so on- and plan accordingly. Ah, Nami- if you have any requests or things you just want better versions of, the sooner I know is the sooner I can make it happen.”

“Gotcha, Tailor.”

 

Usopp is outside, playing with Luffy and Zoro. They’re all pretty loud; glad I’m in here, where it’s quieter. The blue haired poacher woman flinches a little every time the final snap comes. Her curly haired friend clenches his jaw a little tighter every time she does.

 

“I’m actually making them be kinder.”

“Tailor-kun?”

“Their natural behavior is to just tear their prey apart. I’m having them snap or bite through the nerves of the neck before butchery in an effort to keep the rats from feeling too much pain. Even though they’re vermin, they’re still living beings deserving of respect and kindness. They couldn’t help being born rats, just as we can’t help being born who we are. There’s nothing actually wrong with being a rat- it’s just a state of being. Rats are actually pretty cool.”

“What?” Sanji’s looking at me with a dark sort of inward facing mockery. He’s not the kind of guy who mocks women. “What’s so great about being literally the source of plagues and famines? The origin of death and disease?”

“Sanji, plagues are carried by fleas more often than rats; famines are usually due to prolonged human stupidity, not rats; death is a natural process caused in many ways, but usually not rats. They get a bad reputation, but they’re actually very affectionate creatures; a pet rat is genuinely cuddly, and when they’re raised as pets they’re actually born tame. They’re adaptable and naturally skeptical, which means they’re hard to trap or trick, good at surviving through any kind of strife or environment. They’re physically impressive too, able to leap, climb, swim, and run farther than many other creatures; they can even squeeze through spaces no larger than a five beri coin.”

 

He takes a drag on his cigarette, black eyes fixing on soldier honeyjackets licking up the splattered blood and breaking apart the small bones with powerful crushing jaws. His eyes gleam and brood balefully. Crocus taught me to read using the comics in the newspaper; Nami gets a new one every two or three days.

I’m not dumb, or unobservant.

 

And I wasn’t always a seamstress.

 

“I never said you were, Tailor-kun.”

“Weird eyebrows don’t actually count as a measure of a man- and I’m not going to give you shit about them. Or really, anything else about you that isn’t a direct result of your personal actions. The way a man’s hair grows doesn’t dictate what kind of person he is- it’s the actions he takes that matter. I think you’re pretty cool, Sanji, even if your weird habit of fainting due to blood pressure fluctuations can’t be healthy. Seriously, how many problems does that cause?”

Sanji snorts, then smiles at me. “...Thanks Tailor.”

“Sure? Ah, but I’m not sure why you’re thanking me for stating facts in an authoritative manner?”

His smile gets softer, somehow. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Ah? Okay, I guess.”

 

The blue haired poacher woman is looking at us oddly. She doesn’t realize I can see her. There’s almost a kind of- admiration? in her gaze.

She’s weird.

We’re about six hours from landfall when the poachers take a running leap off the deck, into misty waters below.

 

I don’t want to go on that island.

“I don’t either, but we can’t leave you here alone.” Usopp fully recovered from that hellish day of sailing a few days ago. “I, the Great Captain Usopp, will stay with you so as not to excite my I-can’t-go-on-that-island disease!”

“...are it’s symptoms knee knocking, crazy boasting, and false confidence?”

“Pardon?”

“Nevermind.”

Zoro sniggers.

“Usopp, Tailor, you’re both going on this island with the rest of us. No exceptions.” Nami runs the ship, I think. Luffy’s just the captain. “And don’t you forget it!”

“NAMI-CHAN IS SO BEAUTIFUL WHEN SHE’S ENFORCING HER AUTHORITY~!”

“Sea-witch.”

“DON’T CALL NAMI-CHAN THAT MARIMO-BASTARD-”

 

Zoro and Sanji sure are good friends. It’s always nice to see two people comfortable with beating the shit out of each other also being comfortable with sleeping in the same dorm. I always forget that men are nowhere near as vindictive as women.

Today I am wearing the pants I wore back on the Twin Capes, the pair I made for myself. I’ve tied a yellow-orange silk scarf around my waist as a belt, like Usopp does. I’m wearing the crop top I wore just after that bullshit weather- vibrant green bayadere stripes, a cute ruffle beneath my chicken cutlet tits. I have all of two chicken cutlets to my name, it’s depressing as fuck.

 

So, the village of Whiskey Peak is suspicious as hell. It’s not even sketchy, it’s out and out shady.

“Tailor, speak a little quieter.”

“Sorry Nami. Ah- I’m not one for big parties like this, actually. I’m going to explore the island a bit, if that’s okay?”

“I’m fine with it.”

“Cool. Really wonder what those beetles are eating...”

 

I walk through the village. There really aren’t very many bugs- but there are just enough flies for me to notice that the party they’re throwing is almost certainly a front. Most people don’t need rifles and nailbats to have a good time.

Oh! They have black widows! I’m going to collect as many of those as I can, their silk is absolutely excellent. The other spider- ah, the fiddleback. Now there’s an old friend on whom I can rely. The last arachnid I sensed is much higher on the cactus shaped mountains; I airlift widows and recluses with honeyjackets and send them back to the ship; the damselfly relay lets me focus on Crabby’s fine motor skills so she can open the door for my auxiliary swarm. The mountain is made of green stone, faintly swarming with white veins of some crumbly rock that dissolves in agitated wind and puffs clouds of dust under my feet. I’m being followed.

Bark scorpions are pretty cool. They have huge bodies, and this particular varietal can totally kill a man with one good sting- not from her poison, that would probably be about as painful as a mosquito bite. No. It’s that her stinger is fully long and wide enough to puncture internal organs and she can thrust it through bone with violent speed. I fall in love with her immediately. The adult female’s thorax is about the size of the whole of my lower back, her massive tail uncurling to at least my knee, the dread stinger fully the size of my hand. It’s sharp enough to shave with, and has a full knife edge. On her back are her beautiful babies, skewed slightly higher on the female side of the female to male ratio. There are hundreds of tiny tiny baby scorpions, tiny and supremely lethal- their little thoraxes aren’t much bigger than the fingernail of my pinky. So cute. So precious. So deadly.

They’re so hungry. I give them half of the meat from my snackbox, which makes the mother feel a bit better about things. She climbs onto my front and clings to me a bit desperately. I feed them the rest of the meat from my snackbox, and finally come to the ‘spines’ of Cactus Mountain. They’re tombstones.

 

I’m still being followed.

 

There are more fresh graves than old ones, and most of them are unmarked. I know they’re fresh because of all the beetles- the bodies were stripped and butchered before being dumped out here. So many beetles. There are thousands of skulls. They met smiles on the sea and for a time there was wonder; and then for them, the moon did not set. Perhaps, for some, there was no moon at all. Bright light came for them, and unknowable stars shone without remorse. And now their smiles do not cease, their laughter does not quiet; their revelry is marked by smiles that are better, fuller. Wider. Gleaming. Eventually, they found no need to continue their journeys, these nameless dead, and they smile so. Happily. Smiling strangers in the desert. The wind a little stronger, and I can see their yellowed teeth, gleaming. The sun has set.

 

I am not smiling.

 

I press myself into a narrow place between crumbling green-white stones. The scorpion’s joy at the prospect of food drew others of her kind; they scuttle over me, their bodies weighed down with thousand of tiny, adorable babies. So precious. According to Crocus, there is a peculiar, feral kind of efficiency to my fighting, a brute sort of simplicity. I personally think it might just be laziness; I don’t want to work harder than I absolutely have to, to get something done. In fighting, though, I suppose that translates to a favoring of lethal takedowns and dirty tricks.

Like the bugs I control, I don’t let things like fairness and honor stop me from finishing my business. Not anymore.

The first man dies with a stinger through his heart. The weight at the end of my kusarigama’s chain splatters the next man’s head against the side of the crumbling green stone. A roll of the shoulder and a flick of the wrist wraps the chain around another man’s throat and a quick drop to one knee ducks a sword and pulls him down. Scorpions leap from my back as I roll forwards between a man’s legs- my sharp sickle biting into his groin and tearing him open in a spray of blood. A sword clatters to the ground. Three dead men are covered in hungry scorpions. There’ll be nothing but bones left soon.

The scorpion I hand fed is still clinging to my stomach. I think I’ll take her with me. Pinch Mama, and her thousand deadly children. Yeah. An explosion ripples through the cool night air. Pinch Mama and her deadly brood climb from my stomach to my back. Some yearling daughters of Pinch Mama’s drop gracefully onto the top of my head, and using their eyes, I walk back down the mountain. Blood dries in itchy splatters over my body; my chest, shoulders, arms, parts of my face. Pinch Mama’s mighty tail sways behind me like a cat, curls like a small monkey’s- she’s pissed. I am too.

The honeyjackets are crepuscular; those angry ladies are all abed by now. It’s a good thing I met Pinch Mama. Half the village is on fire, and the soft clink of my kusarigama’s chain echoes through empty streets. My shadow dances oddly in the flickering light cast by burning buildings. My hair is long enough that it’s natural curl is stretched into soft waves by the sheer weight of it; it only barely brushes Pinch Mama’s face, and bounces lightly every step. There are specks of blood on my glasses. I’ll need a shower later.

 

Luffy and Zoro are fighting. The entirety of the upper reaches of the mountain were nothing more than a great collection of smiling faces, stripped by bugs and time and the weather of all their flesh and blood; only bones and scurrying insects remain of the thousands butchered and abandoned there. They were butchered before their deaths; their organs and internal parts- muscles, and such- were not left to rot as the rest of them were. The beetles only had scraps of meat to worry from bones, it was simply the great multitude of poorly-done butchery that allowed their spectacular fecundity. Usopp is staring at me in horror. So is Nami. Sanji’s eyes suddenly jerk open, flash of black and in the black is a flash of silver- the smell of dried blood and foul intentions-

I take two steps to the left. Pinch Mama strikes. There’s a sharp, satisfying scream of pain. I turn sidewise to the war-scythe dug into the ground. Pinch Mama’s stinger jerks out of a man’s arm with a quick nasty twitch. My chain wraps around his other arm, and I step inside his guard, my sickle rising to slice him groin to shoulder. He backs away, letting go of his scythe. I jerk him back with a snap, aiming to kick his head clean off- but he dodges my outstretched foot. He also dodges directly into the path of Pinch Mama’s stinger, and his face is opened from the bridge of his nose through the vitreous humors of his eye and all the way back to his ear, neatly punching through the thin bone of his skull near the socket. I snarl a smirk and hook my booted heel into the back of his neck, driving him down into the hard packed earth with a final, wet, crunch. I’ll have to wash and shine my boots later.

The body slides down the alley; a snap of my arm has the chain untangled and in my hand. I step easily from the messy remains of my short fight, and advance towards my crewmates. The light of the moon is bright, and shines on me faintly. Looks like a fun night was had by all.

  
  


“Oh god you’re just like Luffy, Zoro, and Sanji aren’t you?” asks Nami.

“Ah. I’m not sure what you mean?”

“You killed that guy in two moves!”

“Mm, Pinch Mama helped, Usopp, I won’t take credit for things I didn’t do.”

“...Pinch Mama?” Sanji looks like he instantly regrets asking. I’m a little too excited to care.

“Ah, yes- look at her!” I hold Pinch Mama out to them, balanced on my forearms. They immediately lean away, and there's a sharp squeak from Sanji. He must be as excited as I am! “Isn’t she just darling~!? And such an attentive mother, too- of course, all scorpions are, but this one wasn’t afraid of me at all, let me feed her and her babies right from my hands-”

Sanji’s squeak has evolved into a full on whimper. I had no idea he was so into bugs. Usopp has a strange expression on, some combination of horror and unwilling interest. Nami has pressed a hand to her mouth, clenched the other into a shaking fist. Sanji is sweating visibly, a faint sheen of glimmering white all over his suddenly pale face. Five voices ask as one.

 

“Babies?”

“Oh, hey Zoro, Captain Luffy- yeah, she’s carrying them on her back, like scorpions do. There are one thousand two hundred and- oop, three now, one just pissed off the wrong sibling.”

“You mean those lumpy thingies on her back are all baby scorpions?” Luffy at least seems to be genuinely interested.

“Yeah! Their thoraxes- um, the part of the body where the legs connect- are only about as big as my pinky fingernail, so they’re still pretty young. The ones on my head are about a year more mature. What’s great about this species is that the small baby ones can kill a man with one sting, but hardly have the strength to get through the skin, whereas the Mama can rupture organs with the right angle- but her venom is barely enough to cause itching.”

Sanji has fainted. This blood pressure issue of his can’t be healthy. I hope we get a doctor soon. I’m not sure why Nami has started giggling, but Usopp’s eyebrows are very high on his forehead. Luffy is grinning ear to ear. Zoro doesn’t say anything, but there seems to be a tolerating sort of amusement radiating from him.

 

“Eh, Tailor- you really like bugs, huh?”

“Ah, yeah. I like them a lot more than I like people. You guys are alright though.”

 

And at that, all the conscious members of the crew smile at me. I smile back at them, of course. Sanji came out of his faint just long enough to flash me a winning smile before catching sight of Pinch Mama and falling into Usopp in a dead faint again.

I think he might be afraid of bugs.

Also, Nami hits really hard- but I’m not entirely sure how I was supposed to avoid getting a bounty. I don’t think 40,000,000 is really that high, and calling me “Bug Catcher” Tailor seems… somehow really dumb. Oh well.

Ah. Apparently the blue haired poacher woman was a princess all along. We’re taking her back to her kingdom now.

  
Okay.


	4. Falkor

So. I’ve been taking measurements of the crew. I’ve also replaced all the hammocks on the Merry. The two are not unrelated.

 

I found a bunch of things in Whiskey Peak. There was a shoebox full of unopened nailpolishes and sparkling hair clips, everything caked with grey-green dust. There were small sealed tins of hot pink pigmented cream and rose red pigmented cream and wine red pigmented cream- lips, or cheeks? Does it matter? There was a tube of kohl, empty, and a tube of jet black lip stain, full and unopened. I took all of them with me, and a multitude of spiders too; before the Baroque Works bounty hunters took over the town Whiskey Peak, it was full of ordinary people, with normal lives. Maybe it will be again, someday.

I’ve also been making kajal for several days now- er, khol. I don’t quite remember how I know how to make it; the motions of soaking strips of cloth in compounds of oils I gathered from the abandoned houses and crawlspaces in Whiskey Peak- camphor, sandalwood, castor oil in a bottle that probably held cough syrup once. A multitude of tiny bottles full of essential herbal oils; rose, lavender, mint, vanilla. The motions to gather soot into a simple venus shell the size of the palm of my hand, of smoothing drops of castor oil into the soot with a stylus made of a slim piece of wood I spent all of an evening carving to perfectly fit my hand. The motions of steadying my arm in relation to the ship’s graceful sway, of marking below and above my eyes in black lines that stretch a ways past the corners and out onto sun-tanned brown. The simple careful arching of my eyebrows in darker sweeps of black, and the sudden moment when it’s enough- I do not know how I know these motions. 

I do not know when I learned these movements, so calm and calming; in the life I remember, I had no time or inclination for such things. Then again, I must have, I was a princess- ow.

 

Zoro’s shoulders are broader than Sanji’s, but Sanji’s thighs are broader than Zoro’s. Luffy will tear any seam or cuff that clings too closely. Usopp needs a full range of motion for his shoulders, and would do well with a tool loop on his overalls. Nami doesn’t like long skirts; but she does like pockets. Vivi- that’s her name, Vivi- likes her clothing to be modest but normal, and actually would like skirts. No one lingers over skirt designs and flowing dresses for so long without liking them. What she actually asked me for is very practical clothing, things she can run and fight in. Similarly, she asks for tans, browns, creams; but her eyes linger on the bright colors, turquoise and carnelian, gold and onyx.

I make her a skirt with intricate patterns of turquoise and carnelian; a flowing dress of pale cream studded with gold; onyx and tan overlays. A frilly skirt in intense turquoise, add a pair of pockets because pockets are literally the best. She smiles to herself when she sees them in addition to the things she asked for in the pile I hand to her, and gives me a hug when she regains her composure. It’s fun to do nice things. It’s less fun clearing out people’s closets. I don’t know who told Sanji that pink and magenta paisley was okay, but if I ever find them I’m going to kick their fucking ass.

I decide to make a better way to cut and pierce spidersilk cloth after making all new linens for the crew’s use. I forgot how ludicrously strong quality spider silk is; it’s almost enough to make me wonder if it wouldn’t be easier to teach Zoro how to cut fabric. Actually, he’d probably enjoy the challenge of trying to cut properly mounted spidersilk. Hmm.

No! Stop getting distracted! Thornflies are what I make next- I didn’t realize I could smush all their guts down so small and make their carapaces so thick and sharp without sacrificing their ability to fly. My own little swarm of needles, ready to cut the fabric apart at my command; small, yet super useful. I also make modifications to my sewing machine- it’s not quite strong enough to handle the spider silk, but it will be. Oh yes it will be.

My green damselflies with their plain black wings have been enjoying scattering into the stratosphere; they number in the tens of thousands now, and are steadily making their way over the entirety of the Grand Line behind us; I’ve got eyes all the way back to the Twin Capes now. Something new I’ve discovered though; to gather information from my swarm that I’m not in local range of requires a trance state. There’s considerable lag time as well, which means while I could reasonably gather information, it wouldn’t be something to use in battle. Not yet. Part of me longs to fly as the damselflies do- twisting through the wind, dancing and jinking without fear or strain. Damselflies have some of the necessary structures, but are entirely too small; I can grow one to appropriate size, given enough time, but I find myself far too impatient for such an endeavour. My shoulders tingle when I gaze too long at the sky. It’s entirely possible I could make myself a new pair of wings, but- no. Queen Aradia shot them off for a reason.

 

The Pinchbrood has something interesting going on inside of them; a natural kind of refrigerant, some strange organic cross between chloromethane and ammonia that cycles from liquid to gas and back. The bark scorpions, even at very small sizes, stay naturally a good three to seven degrees cooler than the ambient temperature- which is astounding when the average temperature is hovering around 37°C. 

“Really Tailor-kun? That’s actually pretty cool- if the scorpion stuff was in a higher concentration, it’d probably be able to substitute for the regular refrigerant- ah, sorry, I-”

“Ah? Sanji, you know that kind of thing? That’s actually pretty cool. I guess it makes sense though; a chef has to know every tool in his kitchen, including things like the fridge and the stove.”

“Hah, yeah.”

“Anyway- these are okay for your kitchen, or should I make them differently?”

“These are very nice; the only thing left is colors, really- I prefer a black stripe which isn’t exactly traditional, but. Well.”

“Ahmhmhm. I’m well aware of your sense of style; it’s not a problem. Double stripe? Single? Oh that’s a big bug. Big, old, bug. Okay.”

“Single- We’re coming in range of another island?”

“Ah, yeah- call Nami in for a meeting, please, she’s gonna want to hear this. Zoro too. I’ll have ‘em done before we get there.”

“No problem, Tailor-kun.”

 

Sanji’s actually pretty nice, once you dig past all the pervert-swoon and the overbearing chivalry. I follow him out of my sewing room, which is also the aft cannon room. Usopp takes a few hours now and again to make sure it’s in working order and secure, and also to teach me how to use it; I’m a fair shot, and it seems to put him at ease knowing that I can set it up and fire it safely. I’ve settled at the table, my sun-kissed skin a little paler than normal. I’ll need to put in some more training- after the migraine eases. Apparently flash mutating a large number of invertebrates is not advisable. Perhaps merely coding in a change and allowing it to express over a more normal life cycle would be better?

Maybe I should get a cooler for all the bug’s food stores- it could possibly act as a secondary cold food storage area? No, that would more than likely throw off Sanji’s accounting of our supplies. The honeyjackets are doing fine with their current access to Nami’s orchard, and they picked off several nests of rodents back in Whiskey Peak, so they won’t require more hunting for several more weeks. Modifying Pinch Mama to be of better use in combat is going slowly- if she wasn’t naturally fully strong enough to tear out a man’s ribs, I’d consider sparring with her and Zoro.

 

“You sayin’ I couldn’t take you?”

“Ah. No, I’m saying that until we have an actual doctor, I don’t feel comfortable sparring with any of my crewmates with live weaponry. Pinch Mama could very easily kill you. Also, it’d be a bit harder to become the world’s greatest swordsman if you were missing a lung or something.”

“Hmph. It’d be a great challenge.”

“Mm. Ah, which reminds me- I think you’d enjoy trying to cut spidersilk dummies. I don’t actually know what would be useful for you, in terms of a dummy, though- remind me to make you some; so, anyway, we’re headed directly towards some kind of trap. I kinda really wish Luffy hadn’t destroyed that Eternal Pose to Alabasta.”

“What’s special about spidersilk?”

“What do you mean headed towards some kind of trap?”

“Good Spidersilk has the same tensile strength as seastone- er, it’s as strong as diamond, Zoro. If you can cut woven spidersilk- particularly black widow silk- cleanly, you can probably cut anything. Nami, I’ve actually been feeling the approach for several days now, but- hmm. What do you know about the evolution of bugs? Like, where they fall in terms of ‘oh, a dinosaur’ on the timeline?”

“Not much... Why?”

“Okay, well- the kind of bugs I tend to use are very… recent. Honeybees are quite recent in terms of bugs because they pollinate flowers; paper wasps are also pretty recent, as they eat and digest wood to make their nests. The cretaceous is when flowering plants evolved, and that’s also when hymenoptera, lepidoptera, and most diptera and coleoptera developed. Erm, ants, wasps, bees, butterflies, flies, and beetles. Where we’re going, the bugs are beetles and such, sure, but- they mostly eat fungi. The ants that are there cultivate fungi- leaf cutter ants. If they don’t eat fungi, they’re something like your locusts or grasshopper- they eat grasses and grains, which also developed before flowers did. As for your predatory specie- dragonflies, damselflies, spiders- if I’m sensing correctly, the smallest of them is about half a meter long.”

“Urk.” Sanji has gone very pale.

“If I’m recalling things correctly- which I might not- I think prehistoric islands have longer than average Log times.”

“So, more than a few days? Weeks?”

“No, Nami. Months to years is what’s popping up for me. Either way, I thought you all ought to know- mm, I’ve got some ideas about how to get by if it is longer than any of us can wait, but that shouldn’t take longer than a few weeks if I push it. Certainly better than nothing. If I know about the upcoming island’s Log weirdness, then you can bet those Baroque fuckers know too.”

“So… expect an ambush?”

“Yep.”

“Haa, thanks for that Tailor. I don’t take sucker’s bets though.”

“So- how do you want to divide the crew for the initial landing? Luffy’s going to explore of course; but the rest of us…?”

“Actually, it’d be best if you and Sanji stayed together. Zoro I can count on to stick with Luffy for the most part; Usopp and I can handle looking out for each other or for Vivi if needed... You actually do better in close quarters, right?”

“Ah, yeah. I also don’t actually need to explore an island to find out what’s on it- but I would like to stretch my legs a bit.”

“That’s fine.”

“Ah, always an interesting time on the Grand Line, hey? Hmhmhmhmhm.”

“Pfft. I could do with a little less excitement myself.”

 

So. Little Garden is a pre-historic island. It’s covered in ancient forests, dinosaurs, and has a giant volcano that erupts nearly every twenty minutes.

I’m having a great time. Sanji is not, but we did just see a three meter centipede, so I think I can understand his concern.

 

“Ah, you know I’ll protect you, right? I’ve told all the bugs on the island not to sting any of the crew- I won’t let them get you.”

“Th-thank you, t-t-Tailor-kun. I’m- not. The biggest fan of bugs. Is all.”

“Mm. D’you want to hold my hand? ‘Till you feel better?”

“Um.”

“The one Pinch Lady isn’t on, Sanji.”

“Y-yeah. That’s- yes, um. Thank you, Tailor-kun.”

“No problem.”

 

According to Sanji, I tripped and gave myself a concussion on a large tree branch about a minute after we started holding hands. I’ve been modifying all my bugs behaviors for a while; when I got knocked in the head, a big transport swarm of honeyjackets took Pinch Lady back to the ship. I think I have a concussion.

Sanji says I have a concussion, and I’m not allowed to sleep.

That’s a pretty dragonfly. Sanji says I can keep the pretty dragonfly so long as I don’t land it on him or on me until we’re back at the ship. I’m pretty sure even when we get back to ship I won’t be able to land the dragonfly on Sanji. Sanji says I’m correct in that thought, and also that I’m walking in a definitely not straight line. I think I’m too tall for him to carry around on his back even though he’s very strong and handsome and could probably do it- I think my legs are a little too long for it to be comfortable for either of us.

Sanji says I’m concussed and my opinions on my legs are wrong. He is also blushing but- eeEEP. Oh wow his back is muscular. Um. Hmhmhmhmhm. I’ve had a guy between my legs before but- oi! Sanji jostled me a bunch. I guess he’s not into dirty jokes when I’m on his back.

Oh. He’s not.

I wrap my arms around his neck. I’ve got all of two chicken cutlets to my name, this shouldn’t make that blood pressure issue of his act up too badly and if it does I guess I’m walking. Sanji is red as a tomato. His hair smells like cigarette smoke and vanilla. It’s very soft.

 

“Stop smelling my hair, a-and rubbing your cheek against it.”

“Ah? But it’s so soft~ I liiiiiiike it~”

“No, it’s distracting right now. Y-you- maybe later. Um.”

 

I think I have a concussion. We’re in a house now, but I thought we’d just left the ship? Why am I nuzzling Sanji’s hair? Mmm, he smells nice- just his smell, not the smoke or the vanilla. Mmm. Sanji smell is best smell.

Hehe. The lovely Mr. Prince is very good at the sneaky sneaky.

I didn’t know he could get that red. Oh so that’s what it feels like when a den den mushi is being a telephone. Weee~ whoa that’s a big centipede. Sanji says I can take the centipede with us but I’m responsible for feeding it, and it’s absolutely not allowed in the kitchen. I can work with that.

I airlift the centipede out. I’ll call him Scarf.

Pretty blue dragonfly is pretty. Sanji is pretty. Sanji says that I’m pretty, but that’s silly. I look just like my dad and that’s not pretty at all. Sanji says that’s stupid, and I’m beautiful, and that the proper word for describing beautiful men is handsome. I did not know that, but okay.

Sanji is very handsome. He also blushes very easily. I’m glad I decided to wear sheer tan overalls and a green button front leotard. Mmm. Scritch itch thigh. Sleeepy. Sanji says I can’t go to sleep, I have a concussion.

I think I have a concussion.

I think with a little modification, I could make the dragonfly able to carry me. I could fly again. Sanji asked if I could fly before, but I ignore his question. Flying would be super cool. Sanji smells nice.

I think I have a concussion. Sanji is laughing. I’m glad he’s having a good time- he’s really cute when he smiles too. We’re back on the ship now. Nami got a bug bite- I think she probably got it when that tree branch knocked me around.

I think I have a concussion.

I hope Nami doesn’t get sick.


	5. Diapuse

Nami got sick.

 

Oh god ow ow ow owwww. This is not fun this is- ow. Fuck. Oh god. Since when are period cramps so terrible? Owfuck.

Oh god I’m cold. 

Okay, okay. It’s alright, it’s just a natural bodily function, you’ve had bad ones before- just means it’s going to be a heavy one this time. Okay. Woo. Cold water and soap on the sheets, your underwear did not survive this one. Augh. Standing up is not fun. Thank goodness it didn’t stain the hammock canvas, although I could just wipe it down if it did. I’m up now, so I guess now’s a good time to do laundry; it’s laundry day anyway. Shower first though. Ugh.

Okay, today’s clothing- period panties, heavy canvas skirt, leather hoodie tunic with the mutton button sleeves. Hm. Lavender shampoo today, too. Urgh. I’m leather tanning today- Sanji got a bunch of fish the other day, and I want to repair my hoodie. Possibly just make a new hoodie, this one’s a little tight on the shoulders. I’m not a fan of the leg of mutton-puff sleeve option, either.

 

I think I’m okay with sacrificing a lot of my deodorant and styptic powder for tawing the fish hides. They’re beautiful silver-white skins, that shimmer in the light. I set them to cure in big salt-water tubs kept agitated by a mechanical flywheel and paddle system Usopp helped me set up last night; after I’m done with laundry and breakfast, I’ll start the hides soaking, and set up an area for liming. I’m glad I figured how to make it only mildly stenchy back with the Old Man; it’d be hell trying to tan leather on a small ship like this otherwise.

I only have to give Luffy the honeyjacket eye three times today at breakfast. I call that progress.

 

“Can you make leather I can re-wrap my slingshot with, Tailor?”

“Mm, yeah- but catch a shark. If I make sharkskin leather, it’ll be a better grip in all weather- and Zoro will get some use out of it too. I can even make white sharkskin leather, if you want.”

“Oh. Thank you, Tailor.”

“Mmhm, no problem Usopp. Ah, but make sure it’s a shark- ordinary fish leather is too slippery. Ask Sanji for meat scraps to attract them- best time is dawn and dusk.”

“Gotcha.”

 

I pass out for the rest of the day and night sometime after lunch. Sanji woke me briefly, and I ate dinner at his urging; but I went back to sleep about a minute after the last bite. I distinctly remember giving him a kiss on the cheek. Might have been an air kiss. I also distinctly remember his blush going all the way down his neck and over his ears; his smoke scented fingers tucking a stray curl behind an ear, tugging my glasses off and setting them into their case on the bookshelf. Sanji’s a nice guy. I like him. He’s always been the one I wanted to- ow ow ow.

 

My period passes in a haze of mindbendingly awful cramps, Nami being sick as a dog, and leatherworking. So much leather. So much work. Making the underhoodie out of silk is one thing- I actually make one for everybody, including Vivi. Those are pretty simple, two layers of silk and the pattern is already in the Tome. Leather is a very similar beast to spider silk in a way- it’s much easier to work with both if you pre-punch the stitching holes, however for spider silk it’s actually simplest to just weave the fabric in the form you want it from the start. Being able to telepathically control spiders sure is useful for that sort of thing.

Lining up fish scales is not fun. Pre-punching holes in leather is not fun. Binding leather to spider silk in specific patterns is not fun, especially when you realise halfway through that pre-punching holes in the silk would have been a good idea. Oh my hand hurts. I have a leather hoodie now though, and it’s got a nice spidersilk muslin, and since we’re going to a winter island… Fucking hell, I really- really, a winter island. Okay. Fine. Looks like I’m going to be making us all hantens. Well, they’re based off of hantens, but longer. Gotta cover your ass when you’re going for a jacket.

Sateen is like satin except I’m using spun thread instead of fine filament thread; it’s a bit warmer, but just as smooth and soft. I’ll keep the collars of our jackets as sateen, but double up on the satin interiors. The old bedding and canvas hammocks weren’t actually rated one on the duck scale; they’re more like a three or five, which is perfect for jacket material. Thinking about it, I’ll probably need both of my pillows for all the batting on all our coats. Yay. Just what I always wanted. It’s easy enough to have the handspinners overweave the canvas after I cut the pieces out and arrange them in patterns the way I want them. I actually have them overweave before I do any cutting- it’s easier for them to start and finish in one long stretch of weaving, rather than do start and stop piece work.

Interestingly, the thornflies cut regular cloth even smoother than my ordinary scissors, which is all to the good. So. Usopp paints squares and diamonds in various sizes and patterns with our Jolly Roger when I ask him to; he seems very cheerful about it. He’s a little confused when I ask him to paint Alabasta’s flag as well, but obliges easily enough- since it’s just for reference though, it goes on a simple piece of canvas. Everyone’s starting to shiver a little bit when they go outside. I’ll have to hurry on the stitching; I ripped open my pillows and winnowed out the feathers inside into soft flock batting, damped it down and let it dry. Usopp finished the painted squares and diamonds for me within the day.

 

I make Zoro’s jacket first; fence rails- two black outside and white in the middle- and nine squares in cool grey and dull greens, pale cream-whites and blunt black threads binding the three layers together; it’s all on a deep navy blue ground, as all the men’s coats are. I put our roger on his right shoulder; it’s straw hat and grin on a mossy green background seems to suit. On him, the hem should hit just below his haramaki; I made sure the cut was right for a swordsman, and it’s loose enough that he should be able to bulk his muscles up without too much trouble from the seams.

Sanji has rolling waves and various fish embroidered around the hems; the roger goes on his lower back in indigo blue. His cut is a little sleeker than the rest of ours, and it sheds water and other things very easily. The entire jacket seems to ripple when I move it under light, which I think he’ll really like.

Usopp’s jacket is a combination of granny squares and brilliant stars, exploding across as multicolored starburst fireworks on a dark blue and black ground, the jolly roger sitting high on his back. It also has lots of hidden pockets and straps, but just as many ordinary pockets and regular utility straps.

Luffy gets red and white granny squares- but also all the other colors too in tinier granny squares- hiding in the big ones. Best to use up all the colors I used on the rest of the crew’s coats. The roger is just our flag plain; black ground, white skull, yellow hat. His jacket is the loosest, wide cuffs and one large button more for show than anything else; I’m a little concerned that he won’t keep it in good repair, but then again, I am the ship’s seamstress.

Nami’s is windblown squares and flying geese, tangerine orange and money green; excepting the geese triangles flying up towards her head, which are all red. In the center diamond, right between her shoulder blades, I stitch down our jolly roger. There are a multitude of hidden pockets and straps, perfect for a cat burglar. The pockets are lined in vivid red, and the collar is a smooth red sateen.

Vivi gets a dawn star in blues and greens. I don’t add our Jolly Roger to her jacket, because she’s not a pirate or a member of our crew. I hide her country’s symbol in the star; quilts have always hidden messages in them, so why not this one, even if it is just a quilted jacket. The ground of the jacket is a soft cream, and the lining is red.

Mine is a simple log cabin square pattern repeating; jolly roger on a plain brown background. Faded brown satin lining, red sateen collar. Plain white pockets; big cargo pockets for hand projects I can’t bear to leave behind.

All of the jackets have touches of what I consider to be the appropriate colors- red for Luffy, green for Zoro, orange for Nami, blue for Sanji, brown for myself, cream for Vivi, and yellow for Usopp. I check them all over for loose threads, unstitched bits, anything- and I only missed a few stitches on Nami, Usopp, and Vivi’s jackets, which is honestly not surprising, considering the overall complexity of their jacket’s patterns.

 

Of course, since I’m making quilted jackets, it’s pretty simple to make regular quilts as well; simple granny squares, zig zag stripes of blue and white, fence rails in plain browns and sharp whites and soft greens; X’s and O’s out of various colorful scraps. There’s even a knitted throw for the couch now. 

I don’t have pillows or a mattress now, but I’m really too tired to care. I made myself two simple quilts; granny squares the both of them. I sewed a lot the past two days; according to the bugs and Nami, it gets coldest after lunch. I also have third watch today. Well, okay.

I wash the quilts and jackets before my watch, hang them on the hives before I go up to the crow’s nest; with the dawn comes the end of my watch and a nap until breakfast. They’re warm and clean and dry just after breakfast, as they should be. It’s getting cool enough that they’re entering a hibernation state- all of my bugs are, even the new ones, Scarf and Falkor. It’s a little unnerving, frankly. Still, I can’t blame them; winter is not a good time for bugs to be outdoors.

 

The crew scatters after breakfast, and I take it upon myself to give everyone their hanten; Zoro’s gets draped over his face, but gently. Vivi gets handed hers causally, and I’ve already moved on to Usopp and Luffy by the time she realizes what I’ve handed to her. I might have made a habit of handing new clothing to my crewmates with a laissez faire attitude; I’m honestly too tired to notice how they’re reacting to the things I made for them, which is usually my favorite part. I press Usopp’s into his chest, and drape Luffy’s around his shoulders, buttoning it shut just over his clavicles- he always sits on his special seat, and it’s rapidly getting colder. Hopefully he doesn’t catch a chill or chest cold or something. Ugh so tired.

I might also have used sewing to avoid my feelings about Nami’s illness. I thought I- no. It’s just some bad luck, that’s all. Nami smiles when I tuck a quilt specially made for her in around her; it’s covered in tangerine orange granny squares. I hang her jacket on a hook by her bed, help her drink some water while she’s still awake. I wash my hands after going into her sickroom. I- no. No. I was concussed, I can’t. It’s too cold to cry about anything, even if-

I leave Sanji’s folded on the counter- catch a wide blue black eye- oh his eyes are a very dark shade of blue, how nice. Nearly done. I put the sturdier quilts in the men’s room; the fancier quilts in the women’s room. Throw goes on the couch. It takes me three tries to land my glasses in their case on the bookshelf, and I seriously consider sleeping on the couch- but no. I’m too tall for the couch, I’ll get a spine crick. I comb my hair, braid it back into two long sleek braids. Maybe I should cut it short? 

The quilt I lay directly on my hammock is the first one I made, same as my jacket; they’re both a little ugly and plain, like me. I hope everyone likes their hantens. The second one gets layered over my sheets; I folded up my leather hoodie and put it in my pillowcase.

I sleep through lunch. Sanji wakes me for soup. I thank him for the soup, tell him his eyes are pretty, and go back to sleep. Guilt dream about Nami’s illness- even though there are extenuating circumstances, even though she doesn’t blame me I don’t think… I wake up properly for dinner. I’m still cold- shit, it actually got colder. 

I yelped when my feet hit the floor. 

Ugh. 

I hate winter. 

  
  


Dinner is medium spice curry with bits of chicken on a bed of jasmine rice. Everyone is wearing their hanten, even Luffy. I checked on Nami before coming to the table, and she’s sleeping under hers. I am included in the everybody. Vivi was crying. I hope she feels better now.

 

“Tailor-kun?”

“Yes Sanji?”

“I’m giving you one of my pillows, and my mattress too. Thank you for making coats for all of us.”

“Ah, um. Thank you? And you’re welcome. Um, but- I can’t take your mattress. I’ll take a pillow though.”

“Eh? Something happened to your mattress?”

“Ah- yeah. Um, sorry Zoro, but I didn’t actually have batting for any of our hantens, so. Um. Feathers are feathers. It’s not like I could sleep knowing my crewmates were cold anyway. I’ll get a new one at the next island we come to. Or kill a few geese or something.”

“...Hey, you’re actually really nice, eh Tailor?”

“...Ah. If you say so, Luffy.”

 

This curry is delicious. Everyone is looking at me funny. I’m too tired to deal with people. Luffy is hugging me. He’s also giggling which… he actually does pretty often? Okay. He has meat juice all over his sleeves- which, honestly, I was expecting so I waterproofed basically the entire thing. So long as he gets reminded to wipe it down before putting it away, there shouldn’t be any problems. Usopp- no, everyone. Everyone has shiny eyes for some reason? People are weird and I do not understand them.

I go back to bed.

  
  


I’ve decided; I’m going to combine all my current bug types into one super bug- or at least I’m going to start writing up how I want to combine them. If we get a doctor soon enough, I’ll also add hookups for my wings- I was top-ranked in flight maneuvers back- before. There’s a blank page book and a fountain pen in my things that Crocus gave me just because one day. I think he enjoyed having someone to make things for around... I spend the next few days recovering from my heavy duty weaving, building up glycerol levels in my swarm, and drawing up plans for Falkor.

My dragonfly, Falkor, is going to be the base. Scarf has the flexible chitin I want, and the hyper connectivity from Shelly is going to be important. All the Pinches have the genetics for extreme heat regulation, which is also going to be important for sustained flight. The honeyjacket’s ability to be semi-omnivorous will be useful, but I’ll have to do something about the stomach capacity. Flight is the most energy intensive form of animal locomotion available; I won’t need the powerful gripping claws as weapons, but as part of a harness system to ensure my safety. Urgh, my fingers are too numb to write properly, I need gloves- oh, Usopp.

 

“Ah, hello.”

“Hey Tailor. What’re you writing?”

“Oh- um, I’m working out what I need for a bug that’s big enough for me to fly with. When I was younger I had a giant beetle friend that I rode around on, but we don’t really have the space… And my own wings- anyway. Um.”

“...What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s like this. For animals, flight takes a lot of energy- food, I mean. The heat of flying is immense, so most bugs have some specific method of transferring it from hot to cold. Here, feel the tip of the radioflies; feel how cool her little bubble butt is compared to her little chest?”

“Yeah, it’s- woah, it’s noticeably cooler. Also, she?” I nod. “She seems sleepier than normal, they’re usually skittish and flicky.”

“Right, that’s the other thing- invertebrates don’t have the same way of regulating their internal temperatures we, as vertebrates, do. When it gets cold like this, invertebrates- not just bugs, but clams and octopi and worms and things- build up a special kind of sugar in their bodies. This sugar keeps their blood from freezing in the cold. Hand her back- and come with me.”

“Wha-” I drag Usopp into my sewing room. There are big dull brown hives, steadily thrumming with the sound of honeyjackets keeping warm in the cold temperatures. The damselfly nestles into the gently humming pile of her sisters on my sewing desk. There are still a few hardy honeyjackets gathering nectar from Nami’s tangerines; I’ve actually started considering sending them all into a hibernation state. It’s very cold for them. “Um.”

“Don’t worry- these ladies are more concerned with gathering the last little bit of nectar from Nami’s trees that they can. You won’t be of interest until you’re past that mark on the ground and the wall, see? Besides, while I’m here with you, they won’t attack.”

“Ah, yeah. What’s that humming noise?”

“That’s what I wanted you to hear- those are all the ladies of the honeyjacket hive. They’re actually piled up around the honey and fermenting meat, vibrating their wings. Put your hand in mine, and keep breathing steadily.” 

 

He does, tentatively.

I very smoothly press his hand lightly against the spongy surface of the honeyjacket hive, and slowly draw it down to where the surface is warmest; right over the highest concentration of bugs and honey and rotting meat. Usopp’s brow furrows.

 

“It’s warm.”

“Mm.”

“So- okay. In winter- I guess this is important for winter, but in summer, they do something else-”

“Yes, they flutter their wings and they don’t eat anywhere near as much meat.”

“Okay. So how is this important for flying?”

“Well, for one thing I’m- even though I’m a lot lighter than my frame would suggest- I’m still quite heavy, and flying creatures aren’t. It takes a specific amount of wing surface to lift a specific weight, and after a certain point it takes more muscle than the wing can lift- at which point, you can’t fly. The muscles to make the wings that would lift and carry me with any degree of finesse aren’t hard to make, I actually still have mine. It’s the secondary systems that are of concern- from the actual wings, to the method to ensure my air intake, to coolant and heating, to what kind of chitin to sheath everything in. I had gear and training that did everything, before, I even had wings- but. I don’t, anymore.”

“What happened to your wings?”

“They got shot off- ow. Ah. Anyway, there’s a lot of little things I have to keep track of to make a proxy pair or even a new pair entirely- otherwise it won’t be as good as it could be. Which is why I’m writing it all down. For another thing, bugs that fly are built to have low wind resistance; think of it like having a clean hull in good repair, with a straight keel and so on. There are other bugs here I don’t have much use for currently, but that’s because I haven’t figured out how I want to put together the bug that actually flies. There are stink beetles from Whiskey Peak with some exceptionally strong shells, sea crickets I breed mostly for fodder, crabs and such I actually keep for Sanji’s sake- even Shelly, my Den Den Mushi isn’t used for anything interesting yet, simply because it takes time to make all the bugs. Although Shelly’s a special case- they’re usually the vocalist when I practice operas with the Bug Band, and without a specially made rig, I can’t use them as a transponder.”

“So- it’s not like me, where I can just put things together and shoot them.”

“No, it’s not. It’s actually a lot more like Sanji making a new recipe; I have to consider what I want, what I have, and what I’m willing to do to get from one to the other. That’s why I’m actually writing out what I do and don’t have- I tend to gather useful bugs and fodder bugs without rhyme or reason, simply because I find myself using traits and aspects from one or the other without knowing beforehand that I’m going to be using them. I gather ingredients before I even have a dish in mind, I guess.”

“Hm. Do you think I could make Usopp-stars with effects from your bugs? Like a stench bomb? Or-”

“Yeah. Of course you can, Usopp, just- talk to me before you do, okay? I’ve got tons of ideas, and I’m always interested to hear more; so far, I just haven’t found enough samples to make viable specimens of some of the things I have in mind, or I don’t have enough resources for it. Ah, but- yeah, stink bombs from stink beetle spew is pretty simple. Um, but be careful? These are wild animals- the things they use to protect themselves… they aren’t toys.”

“I understand, Tailor. Thank you. ...Um, I’m sorry about your wings, too.”

“Ah. Th-thanks, Usopp.”

  
  


Oh god it’s cold. 

I literally curl up in bed all day now; all my bugs are asleep, and I’m extremely tired all the time now. It’s almost like I’m going into a hibernative state. 

So cold. I really want fruit or fruit juice, fourteen hells- I’ll take fruit preserves at this point. I don’t actually take off my clothing now- if I tried to take a warm bath, I wouldn’t be able to leave the bathroom. It’s not quite to the point where I legitimately cannot get out of bed for shivering, but it’s close.

Nami’s very sick, and if I could get out of bed and to the fore cannon deck, where her bed is, I’d be able to check some of my worry for her. I can’t, though. Every time I try, my teeth chatter so hard I’m half afraid I’m going to break them. Aradia shot the node where wing-joint met bone- just cartilage and chitin- she didn’t shoot the muscles. I’m thus treated to the terrible sensation of shivering my wings without actually doing anything of the kind; it’s incredibly aggravating to be undergoing full body shuddering without actually being able to warm up in any appreciable way. Aradia really meant to kill me when she shot my wings off.

Sanji’s worry for us both is wearing him out; I keep telling him that I’m okay, I’m just sensitive to temperatures, but he won’t stop making me hold big bottles of hot water, or cast iron taken from the warm oven- which is nice, but… Usopp made me a chemical heater in a pouch, and that works much better. I’m still shivering harder than I’d really like to be, and my teeth still chatter violently, even when I’m inside- but at least with the heat-pouch, I’ve stopped trying to shiver my wings.

 

My reaction to the temperature shift isn’t uncommon- it might also be exacerbated because almost all my bugs are currently sleeping. Or even because I’m just not wearing enough layers. I pull on the long sleeve halter top leotard I made for myself; it’s technically a swimsuit, being made of swimweight taffeta, but warm enough. I don’t have long tights, but I do have the pants Crocus gave me- which I was able to at least take in around the waist- and my pair of silk capri length pants that I wore in Whiskey Peak. I’m glad I washed them. I’m equally glad I decided to make a long sleeve shirt, even if I’ll probably literally never wear it except in very cold weather; it’s hem goes all the way to the middle of my thigh. I made myself a pair of mittens, a scarf, and a hat- the scarf is a plain red square, perhaps a bit too large, but the mittens and hat are ladybug patterned. I take a moment to really brush my hair out, and let it puff up too. My mittens have a long string connecting them to each other, because I always hate losing part of a set like that. I’ve been sleeping on my new leather hoodie, which actually goes all the way to just past my knees. The fish leather came out nice, if very white. Then again, I did use alum. This will be the first time since breaking them in that I’m going to be wearing the cavalier boots Crocus gave me. They match my hoodie vaguely, but are truly a cool shimmering neutral grey-brown in some kind of leather I don’t know, shining silver buttons the size of 100 beri coins; semi formal boots that will almost certainly outlive me.

I give them at most six months on the Line.

 

Each layer I add makes me feel immediately warmer. I wear a good, warm pair of socks, and make sure my scarf is firmly secured around me before I leave the women’s dorm. Usopp topped up my chemical heater, and it goes around a strap and under my shirt, right against my chest and stomach. My teeth still start immediately chattering as soon as I go outside, but my full body shivers aren’t so bad that I can’t talk- I couldn’t before. I still go into the kitchen as quickly as I can.

Usopp grins faintly when he sees me- or probably my scarf set. The ladybug pattern is a little childish, but dammit I’m cold and I wasn’t going to use two colors of yarn without adding a pattern- that’s boring. Breakfast is oatmeal and hot chocolate- odd combo, but I’m so cold I don’t even care.

 

Ugh this island is going to be terrible, and how are we even transporting Nami to the doctor? Are they coming to us?

“Ah, no- we’re taking her to them.”

“Ahmm- thank you, Vivi- Zoro, go g-get the good r-rope.” Everyone gives me a look. “W-well, I’ve already m-made all the sails and rigging, that was d-done about halfway through Little Garden, but without Nami- I. I don’t want to do anything to M-merry’s sails w-without her. So, um- I got really good at making rope, and, w-well- it’ll be hard to carry her, without a h-harness I mean, and um. I know how to do that with r-rope. And um, do we know where th-this doctor is?”

“Er. Now that I think about it, no.”

“Ah. Then- Zoro, it’s in the hold. We need the coil of thin rope, sitting on top of the new mainsail. Leave the other coils alone- they’re just rigging, they’re too thick for what I’m going to do.” Zoro nods once, then stands. Shrugs his arms back into his hanten, and tromps out the door.

“S-since Nami’s not… not well right now, here’s what I think we should do. Luffy, you’re the captain- as crewmates, we’re your responsibility. So you can carry Nami, or you c-can have one of us do it. Me, Usopp, Sanji, or Zoro- one of us should stay with the ship- and someone else needs to stay with Vivi, aside from Carue. Um, I think Zoro or Usopp should stay w-with Vivi, and Sanji should go with Luffy and Nami. I think I need to stay with the ship. Um. I- almost all my bugs are asleep, but- I. I’m actually likely to be useless on this island; it’s just too cold for most of my bugs, and nearly too cold for me, right now. I’m the best fighter we have for close range, like on the ship- a-and, um. Th-thoughts?”

“Shishishi- you’re really good at plans Tailor!”

“Ah, th-thank you.”

“Tailor-kun, have some warm apple juice- did you not like the hot chocolate?”

“S-sorry, Sanji; it s-seemed weird w-with the oatmeal. I a-actually like my hot ch-choco a little cool anyway, s-so go ahead and leave it.”

“Which bugs are still awake?”

“Radioflies, my Den Den Mushi, and radiocrabs, Usopp. I can tune th-the crabs to work like baby Den Den Mushi with Shelly as the switchboard- they’re all still working pretty much fine. Thank you for the grains for Shelly, S-sanji. Um.”

“It would make me feel better if I could talk to everyone, even when we’re all split up.”

“Me too, Usopp. I’d actually been planning to make one for everyone, but- um. I only have five finished right now. Um. S-sanji- actually, Usopp? Would it be okay if you could go get them and Shelly for me? I’m still pretty cold.” 

 

I’m still shivering. Winter is the absolute worst, and winter islands are directly from hell. The warm apple juice is nice in the cold, but dammit I wish I wasn’t so- ugh. Sanji looks confused for a second, then conflicted. Usopp looks at me, then Sanji, and then nods once. I drain about half the apple juice in one gulp and feel immediately better. Slightly less cold, then increasingly steady.

 

“Of course, Tailor. Where are they, exactly?”

“There’s a shelf by the sewing machine- that’s where Shelly is. U-under the shelf there should b-be a red bucket on a hook, with water in it. That’s the crabs. Thank you, Usopp.”

“Haha! It’s no trouble for the Great Captain Usopp. Why, I once retrieved an entire boar made of solid soapstone from a giant clam!”

“Hmhmhmhm. I’m sure y-you did.” He leaves for my sewing room soon after that. Urgh. Draft makes all the shivers come back, because of course it does. 

 

I finish the warm apple juice in another gulp; the hot chocolate is still warm, so I drink that too. It’s very tasty. I’m still cold as balls, but it’s really very good.

 

“Thank you for- um. Thanks, Tailor-kun.”

 

I smile at Sanji, before a particularly violent round of shivering steals my breath away. Usopp’s back with Shelly and the radiocrabs, as is Zoro with Nami sweating and shivering in her hanten and quilt. Zoro’s wrapped her in the fleecy blanket under the quilt and the sheet too. Luffy has wrapped a warm arm around me- it feels nice, but I’m increasingly certain that a good half of this is anxiety. Still, it’s kind of him, and it does make me feel better. So does being so close to a very drowsy Shelly and a very mellow group of radio crabs, to be honest.

Zoro lays Nami down on the table, and puts the thinner rope down on the table. It’s actually paracord, but I don’t expect anyone to know the technical names of anything. I shrug Luffy off of me, start unwinding the coil of rope. Shit. I need-

 

“Usopp, grab some boards, maybe a hatchet; set them on the table so I can get to work. Sorry, Sanji- Zoro, keep an eye on N-nami- every time she’s awake, make sure she drinks something. Not booze. The apple juice I had with breakfast- that’s alright. Water would be best.”

“No, it’s okay Tailor-kun. They’re just crabs and a den den mushi, right?”

“Ah. Well. Mostly.”

 

I take off my mittens, shove my sleeves up to my upper arm and button them- the mittens dangle from their strings, but I take no notice of it. I pull out all the crabs, click them onto the table. Usopp bounds off- the cold makes me shiver violently, but I shake it off as quick as I can. The main carapace of the crabs is about the size of the face of a large wristwatch, and their legs curl in such a way that they could cling to someone’s arm, shoulder, head, whatever. Their carapace isn’t actually one solid piece- I tap one firmly on a spot between it’s racing stripes, and it pops open, revealing something very like a clamshell. Instead of clam flesh, of course, it’s a speaker, a microphone, five fleshy buttons, and an antenna. I arrange the crabs in a neat row, and keep one; thump Shelly once on their shell. They blink awake, and I start tuning the crabs.

Shelly’s actually been modified for this by me- their shell has chromatophores that will react when each crab is tuned in and active on the line. There’s a second scarf I made- it’s much more water proof. I wrap it around their slimy base, and they smile a little in thanks. Their scarf also has a ladybug pattern, but red dots on a black ground instead of the traditional black on red. Their shell is a dull pale tan color; when I tap the base of the antenna protrusion on their shell, a sleek black stripe zips down the middle of Shelly’s back, where the tan color turns into a pale ivory.

 

“Testing, one two. Testing, one two.” The line vibrates. I do the same procedure with each crab, creating cyan, yellow, magenta, and pure titanium white lines down Shelly’s back, in addition to the inky black one. Each test makes the color line vibrate with the wobbles of my voice; I make to hand Cyan off to Zoro, but Sanji takes it and goes across the room, smirking, then ducks into the storage room and closes the door. I take Black, and press Cyan’s fleshbutton-

 

“...sanji? can you hear me?”

“Yes, I can.” His voice is obviously coming from the crab. Luffy giggles in his signature way.

“Okay, let’s do the second test; testing Black, White, Yellow, and Magenta with Cyan.” I run through each crab; the sound is clear. Usopp comes back with the boards and the hatchet, which I take from him. I hand Yellow to Usopp, who blinks at it.

 

“Third test- Sanji, press the yellow button twice. Signaling Usopp on Yellow.”

“Oi, Usopp, can you hear me?”

“Eh? Yeah, loud and clear.”

“Good. Go outside, please. Zoro, you take White; Luffy, be gentle with Magenta, okay?”

“Okay.” Luffy takes Magenta with a great deal of care, sets her gently on his shoulder; Zoro tucks White into his haramaki.

“V-vivi, help me with Nami, please.” 

 

I’ve notched spaces into the boards, and Vivi carefully lifts Nami up and forwards, who moans a little with the movement. I lash the boards together, and then put them behind her shoulders; Vivi lays her back down. I butt boards against her thighs, and Vivi lifts her legs. I wind the rope around Nami, tighten it into a harness with loops ready to be used to carry her here or there or anywhere- but. I know Zoro won’t say anything about this to anyone, ever; Luffy doesn’t care either.

 

“Nami? Nami, wake up- Nami, do you need to pee?”

“...no...”

“Alright. Black to Cyan and Yellow, come in.”

“Cyan here, Ms. Black.” “Y-y-yellow here!”

“You can come back in now.”

“Okay.” “Th-th-thank goodness.”

“Okay, Luffy- decision time. Who’s carrying Nami, and who’s staying with Vivi and Carue? Is anyone staying here with me?”

“Eh- your plan is good. I’ll carry Nami; Sanji will come with me. Zoro and Usopp will stay with Vivi; you stay with the ship. Keep an eye on us, Merry, and Shelly, okay?”

“Gotcha. Stay warm, okay? Ah Sanji, take something light and warm for Nami to drink- one third apple juice with a pinch of salt, two thirds water- in an insulated thermos, please.”

“Neh, Tailor- you’re a doctor?”

“No- I’m just a sewing professional who knows a few things, alright? Now, go get Nami some help!”

  
  


They go. Luffy and Nami ride on Carue’s back- he’s a spotbill duck from Alabasta, they’re some of the fastest runners in the bird world- and the rest of the crew follows after them. I think I have a shawl somewhere- it can’t hurt. Augh. So cold.

I did have a shawl. Yay.

Nothing really happens- there’s chatter over the lines, of course, but nothing I can really do anything about. Can’t help Sanji when the avalanche comes; can only cheer Luffy on when he has to climb the mountain. I shout for the doctors to help Nami- to help my friends. Tell them the crab is an advancement in transponder technology, don’t worry about it.

Yell at Luffy when he tries to eat who I’m pretty sure is going to be our doctor.

  
  


We- me and the young man named Chopper- talk about monsters for an afternoon.

 

“I’M A MONSTER, A MONSTER!! NOBODY WANTS TO BE- NO! SHUT UP! YOU’RE LYING!”

“Ah? I’m a monster because I’ve done monstrous things and had monstrous features; you’re just a young buck who hasn’t done shit yet. Of the two, at the most, you just have monstrous features. Do you even know what that word- monster- means? Where it comes from?”

“Th-that- what? No, but that- that doesn’t matter-”

“Doesn’t matter? Doesn’t MATTER? ARE YOU A DOCTOR OR NOT? WELL!?”

“I-I’m a doctor!”

“THEN YOU KNOW EXACTLY HOW IMPORTANT THE SOURCE OF SOMETHING IS. Now. Monster comes from Monstrum, which is a word meaning ‘an aberrant occurrence, usually biological, that was taken as a sign that something was wrong within the natural order’; Monstrum came from Monere, which does not just mean ‘to warn’ but to instruct, and is the basis of the word ‘demonstrate’. The monster is not a wrong in and of itself, but an instruction- a kind of naturally occurring category error. This was defined by St. Augustine, who didn’t see monsters as inherently evil, but as a natural part of the world. 

Chopper- Young Buck, you’re missing something important, y’know. There’s nothing wrong with being monstrous- having weird features, being different. Those things don’t matter at all. In this world, all people everywhere have a good chance of being born monstrous; through a twist of fate, you were one of them. Congratulations; you’re human. What matters is what actions you take- the morality, the law you uphold. What do you know of the creation of the world? What do you know of the source of all evils?” 

 

It was about here I realized I was drawing on a life that may or may not have been real, but- I had to say something. So basically for a while I was talking out of my ass, but- I had to say something. I also didn’t realize that literally everyone was listening to my conversation with Chopper until Luffy asked me to tell him more stories “like the one you told Chopper! Shishishi!”

 

“I- nothing. There’s a vague memory of- those with the greatest antlers, they meditated on the presence of green shoots in snow and the necessity of wolves, but what- why does that-”

“Listen, then, and I will tell you. Long ago, in the formless beginning, Darkness thrived in the Void to which All Must Return. From the Void sprang the True Mind, capable of seeing through all illusion; from the Void sprang the True Heart, capable of touching the poison of hatred without harm. And from these two sprang Her Grace, Who Waits at the Edge Of Time. And from Her Grace came Light. Though Darkness had always thrived in the void, it must always yield to Light- it does not dare encroach upon it. Three pieces of Her Grace’s light shot out into the light, becoming Wisdom, Power, and Courage. It was these three that created all the world we exist in- Power’s might formed all the fires and the earth, and all the treasures of the world, and all the Treasures of the world too; Wisdom’s concern poured all the waters of the world into it, and proclaimed the Law of the world to all who looked; and Courage created all the living things there are, to uphold the Law. In the great creation, Darkness was pushed farther and farther from Light, until finally it was in a form no larger than a chicken egg- medium large, for reference. Thus was the creation of the world.”

“What happened to the egg full of Darkness?”

“Grace was not content with all creation- and so she created Pandora, the first woman. Pandora was made of pieces of all things in creation- Wisdom, Power, Courage, Grace itself, the True Mind, and the True Heart. The only thing that was not used to create Pandora from the start was Darkness, and that is because it was to Pandora the Egg of Darkness was entrusted. She was told to never open it, for surely disaster would befall the world otherwise. For many years, Pandora did not open the egg- for surely the world was perfect as it was. And it was perfect. The sun did not rise and set, for there was no sun, nor moon, nor night. Plants did not grow, or wither; fish did not swim; birds did not fly. There were no waves upon the shore. The world was still, and silent. Nothing lived- but nothing died. Surely this was enough? And yet- Pandora was not content with this perfection.”

“So she broke the egg.”

“So she broke the egg.”

“What was in the egg?”

“Inside the egg was all the Evils of the world- the dark one, sometimes called Crom Culloch, sometimes called Angra Mainyu, and all the children of the one- and when the egg broke open, all the foul shadows and wicked deeds of the world fled. At the very end, before the very last of all the beings in the shell of the egg could escape, Pandora clasped the jagged shards in her hands and squeezed them shut so tightly- why, the very last of them couldn’t escape at all. And that was how Pandora gained a Shadow of her own, and Hope forevermore.”

“...”

“...Hope isn’t something anyone can take from you, Chopper. You grab it for yourself because you can’t bear to let it go; and, indeed, the only person who can make you give up your hope- for anything, for anyone, for any reason at all- is you. When hope becomes solid, it becomes determination- and guess what my captain has to spare?”

“...determination.”

“Yeah. You should be more concerned with what you want, who you think you are- if you’re a monster, fine. Are you the best monster you can be? Are you proud and happy? Pandora could have grabbed for the shards of darkness at any time- she chose to grab Hope before it fled from her. Pandora could have chosen to become a monster, and monstrous too, to become morally objectionable, physically or psychologically hideous, and- she chose to be a freak of nature. In the end, Pandora was content with merely being monstrous.”

“...You said you were a monster because you’d done monstrous things. What did you do?”

“...Hm. The whole story’s a bit too long. ... In the end, who a hero is as a person- it doesn’t matter at all, it never has. The definition of a hero is someone who is admired for courage, noble qualities, or outstanding achievements. I became… a hero, I suppose some must call me. And I killed a monster. And to kill that monster- I did monstrous things. I lost the truth of who I am, and took two bullets to the head and one to my pride. Heroes die all the time; we used to call them ‘someone who gets a lot of people killed’. I was a hero- heroes get people killed, and I got people killed- and in the end, I died. Or at the very least, my sister tried to kill me. And yet- here I am. You have a hero, Young Buck?”

“Y-yeah- I do.”

“Does it matter what kind of person they were?”

“No. No, it doesn’t.”

“By that same token, it doesn’t matter if you’re a monster or not- Luffy wants you to join the crew. I wouldn’t mind having a competent doctor aboard this floating ship of fools and dreamers- and considering the fact that monsters make up more than half our crew registry, I’m sure you’ll fit right in.”

“SHUT THE HELL UP! CALLING ME A COMPETENT DOCTOR DOESN’T MAKE ME HAPPY AT ALL! FUCK!”

“Wao. I didn’t know tsunderes came in the male variety.”

“Eh?”

“Nothing, nevermind. I didn’t say a damn thing.”

  
  


Everyone grinned at me after that, every time they looked at me on the Merry. I’m sure it was just out of joy for Nami’s recovery and my own acclimatization to sub-zero temperatures, aND NOTHING ELSE AT ALL. 

Because there’s no reason at all to be laughing at me… although if Chopper’s a tsundere, does that mean Sanji’s a hendere? Because I’m not really sure what the hell else to call his full body noodle pervert thing, or the heart-beam things. Henhen Sanji is basically useless. Deredere Sanji can hang out with me any time.

Zoro has started laughing so hard, the rum we’re all drinking just shot out his nose. He’s now pressed a hand to his face, and he’s all but howling with glee, tears of mirth and pain dripping down his face, his whole front a mess of rum and snot. 

As the pink snow falls like the coldest, most unpleasant shower of sakura petals in the history of spring, I find myself staring at a Zoro who has very nearly incapacitated himself with his own sense of humor- and at a Sanji reaching heretofore unknown and unseen shades of red. Like a vineap- ow. I’m glad they’re having a good time?

Nami is laughing now. So is Vivi. Usopp hasn’t actually stopped laughing- but he’s shoved a pair of chopsticks up his nose along with Luffy and Chopper, so I think he’s allowed. I think I’ll pass on the chopsticks up my nose though.

I only have the one mug of rum, which I heavily doctored with bitter tea because rum is very sweet and not my favorite booze at all. But- it’s what we’re drinking tonight. It’s actually more tea with a tot of rum in than a mug of rum. Seriously though, Deredere Sanji is best Sanji. I might be drunk.

Zoro is laughing so hard he’s halfway choking. Sanji has passed out again. I swear, that blood pressure problem of his cannot be healthy- I’ll ask Chopper to take a look at him. We have a doctor now, I’m so happy. We probably won’t die of terrible diseases or STDs now. Oh I’m so happy.

  
Everyone’s howling about a “stoneface” now. My friends are weird.


	6. Sand in Your Mouth

So before I knew Vivi as Vivi, I knew her as some asshole poacher who wanted to hurt my friend, Laboon. It went like this.  


I’ve seen some weird shit in my life. Not being able to remember it doesn’t mean it isn’t true.

Watching a teenager in a red vest, blue jean shorts cuffed just above the knees, a pair of Est-style straw sandals and a straw hat wrench the main mast off his own ship with arms that stretch like rubber and jam it into the blowhole of a giant scarred up whale is not really the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen. It’s one of the dumbest for sure. Not quite the weirdest. The weirdest is probably the back of my head, where the white patch is; it’s where Aradia shot me. I have black hair on all the rest of my scalp- but not there, no siree. And two bullets in the brain pan will surely scramble things around, much less my normal inability to remember most things- I have a very limited number of things I’m genuinely passionate about, I guess.

(Crocus throwing one harpoon and managing to pin me, my kusarigama’s weight and chain, and three of crabag’s legs in one go? Much weirder. I have no idea how he fucking did that. Old fart.)

  


He has a nice, iconic style, does their Captain (I think that’s their Captain)- could do with another touch of the yellow color carried by his hat and shoes, but for now, I’ll give his outfit provisional approval.  I mean to say- I guess the kid in the straw hat is the captain of the crew? The other pirates seem to be having a sort of un-reaction reaction to the stupidity just shown.

 

“Does he do this all the time?” I said.

“All the time.” They answer in unison.

“Ah. He’s kinda dumb, isn’t he?” I said.

“So dumb.” They answer in unison, again.

The cute blond one in the suit looks over at me first. Then he goes kinda crazy on me.

“AH WHAT VISION OF LOVELINESS IS BEFORE ME-”

“No. Stop. I don’t like that.”

 

And then I start talking to the rest of the crew. I’m not even dressed pretty today- I’m wearing a pair of olive-drab skinny shorts and a white sleeveless crop top with a yellow skull ‘cherry bomb’ logo woven on the chest. I’ve already been a prize to be won, I’m not interested in- ow. I rub my hand over my forehead. That was a nasty one.

 

“So, what brings you here?”

 

I set my sewing trunk down and pull out my flute and water bottle. It’s about that time of day again. I take a seat on my sewing trunk and play a warm up scale, after adjusting my kusarigama’s chain. I’m not awkward with wearing it around anymore, but it can be a bit of a pain getting chainlinks jammed into the back of my thigh. The orange haired woman cracks me over the head with her fist.

 

“DON’T ASK QUESTIONS LIKE THAT AND THEN IMMEDIATELY IGNORE THE ANSWERS!”

 

I blink. I stare at her, and her crewmates behind her for a long, quiet moment.

 

“I’m sorry, that was rude.”

“AH! JUST LIKE THE OLD DOCTOR GUY!” they all shout.

“Anyway, I suppose you’re all making the journey to the Grand Line. This is the Twin Capes Lighthouse, the free entrance point for the Blues. Which pirate crew are you?”

 

I play a glissando on the flute. The boy with the straw hat is painting something awful onto Laboon’s rostrum. I let my fluting trail off into a miserable patter and slowly tilt my head from side to side. It does not improve with an altered perspective.

 

“That straw hat guy is a terrible artist- isn’t he?”

“STOP ASKING QUESTIONS YOU KNOW THE ANSWERS TO!” they all shout.

“Oi. Who are you anyway?”

 

The man with green hair, three? swords, and- oh my god he’s wearing a haramaki, why is he wearing a haramaki. Oddly enough, somehow his voice and the blond man’s voice are of equal depth. I stare intently at him. Seabirds call faintly in the distance. According to Crocus, seabird calls are an onomatopoetic transliteration of the phrase “what a bunch of morons” and I think that’s beautiful.

 

“Oh I’m sorry, that was rude of me. Please call me Tailor; I turned twenty years old three days ago. My star sign is Crab, also known as Comet, and my blood-type is XF. My hobbies include fashion, experimental arthropod rearing, and martial arts.”

“Brat. Stop trying to do my thing, you’re terrible at it.”

“I’m better than a withered old man, Old Man.”

“AH! IT’S THE OLD GUY AGAIN!” they all shout.

They are a very loud group.

 

Crocus grunts. I go back to flute practice. I watch through half closed eyes and inward facing ears as the Straw Hat Kid yanks the main mast out of Laboon and jams it back into their little ship- it’s pretty cute, actually. Terrible thing to do to a ship- ow. Laboon is drifting closer to the Cape and hasn’t quite started eyeing me meaningfully. Not yet. Crocus is also glancing at me meaningfully, which he usually only does when he needs to talk to me about something important. I glance at him, nod softly, and play Bink’s Sake- well, almost. I have a feeling about this practice session- something I want to try. I call a small swarm- singing crickets and honeyjackets carrying some very specific handspinner spiders.

There’s a drawing of an orchestra in my practice book; it’s pretty easy to arrange the various bugs accordingly. (I can’t keep ignoring the name on the inside cover forever. **_This book belongs to -------_ ** ) The cute blond man in the black suit (I know him) is shaking. So is the long nose guy with really puffy hair. I pay them no mind, a soft ‘A’ note coming from me and my flute. I play ‘A’ again, and the crickets join me, chirruping long drawn out notes perfectly in tune; again, and come the honeyjackets, their wings buzzing an octave lower; and the last brings in the handspinners, some plucking and tightening strings, some bowing strings, and still others tapping and clicking small stones together.

 

I play, and the Arthropod Orchestra plays with me. Laboon sings along, as he usually does. He’s actually pretty good after so many times. I’ve added a lovely soprano cricket solo and some counter-melody honeyjacket flourishes to today’s performance. It feels somehow fitting. I’ve actually had some inkling of what Crocus is going to talk to me about- while I perform with the Bugs, I’ve had their less musically inclined brethren packing my things, securing the five hives, and getting ready for travel. The music ends, and after a moment I have the honeyjackets return to their hive, carrying the handspinners with them.

The crickets remain, and it’s a much larger swarm of honeyjackets that drop their carrying gourd into my waiting hand. I spent an evening carving various spring flowers into it, and Crocus handed me a carved ivory screen for the stopper just the right size one morning. I seriously have no idea where he gets some of the things he gives me. Aside from the obvious inference that could be made there, of course.

The crickets retire to their dark abode, and I put my flute away after wiping the spit off. A faint but steady clicking heralds the arrival of crabag; I added powerful gripping claws so she could hold onto the duffle with my extra fabric in it. The sewing trunk is really only about as thick as an ordinary briefcase.

I can feel the boy in the straw hat shuffling closer to me, but if I acknowledge him he’ll only become encouraged. He smells like meat and barbeque sauce, which isn’t altogether unpleasant. He’s actually uncomfortably close, as I can feel his body heat and WHY IS HE TOUCHING ME HE’S LITERALLY HOOKED HIS CHIN OVER MY SHOULDER PERSONAL SPACE WHAT EVEN IS THIS.

 

I stare directly at Crocus.

 

“You want me to go with this guy, Old Man?”

“Brat- he’s the best you’re going to get.”

“ **_This_ ** guy? Really Crocus?”

“Tailor- you can’t stay at this lighthouse for the rest of your life. Go out and see the world already!”

 

I ignore the boy in the straw hat, even as he presses a rubbery, meat scented cheek to mine. His teeth shine oddly bright in the corner of my eye. I lower my glasses on the bridge of my nose and stare at Crocus for a long moment. He meets my gaze.

In my eyes rises the memory of all the things I’ve seen; Kaiju, monsters, men, triumphs and follies. The horrible black things that creep beyond the stars and the cold emptiness of space. A yawning blankness where my life resides, and I can't bear to look beyond it- so, mercifully, I blink, and cannot bear the sheer strength of his gaze after that. I sigh.

  


“What would I even do on your crew, straw hat guy?”

“You should be my musician! The future King of the Pirates deserves an amazing musician!”

“I’m a sewing professional though, or a scout. I’m not actually a musician- certainly not one worthy of the Pirate King.”

“Join my crew as a sew-er then!”

 

I finally look over at him. He has black eyes, black hair, and a pretty deep scar under his left eye. His grin is kinda nice, actually, almost infectious. I feel an answering smirk tip one side of my mouth up, all the way through to my eyes.

 

“Well… okay. I’ll join your crew.” I pause, and look back at him carefully. “What’s your name, anyway? And the crew name? I think that’s the right question...”

“DON’T JUST AGREE TO JOIN THINGS WITHOUT KNOWING WHAT YOU’RE GETTING INTO!” the rest if the crew shouts.

“Shishishishishi! I’m Monkey D. Luffy, Captain of the Straw Hat Pirates!”

“Ah. Call me Tailor. Nice to meet you.”

 

Crabag scuttles up to us with a fabric-y wriggle. She gloms onto the sewing trunk I’ve been sitting on and I pull ties tight to the outside of her carapace; she scampers up my back and settles into place between my shoulders. The heavy gourds with the hives, the neatly packed and ordered clothing- everything from underwear to my boots- an impressively strong length of cord that I’m just about ready to weave through the chain of my kusarigama; I settle into a squat and hum thoughtfully, directing crabag’s auxiliary claws to stow my flute in the main compartment with the rest of my things by handing it over my shoulder. As Captain Luffy squeals gleefully directly into my ear, I take a moment to take stock of my swarm.

Cyan and white spider hive’s eggs are held in suspension; even if someone starts tapping and banging on the outside of it, they won’t be harmed. They’ll almost definitely get swarmed by spiders though. Magenta and black ant hive is the heaviest, because they’re in actual dirt. They’re also the most easily transported. Bee and hornet hives are disgruntled, but relatively stable. They’re humming enough to be felt. Honeyjacket hive exists in an almost transcendental state of industrious fury. They’re humming hard enough to be heard.

All lies well- but I’ll be glad to put the honeyjackets somewhere they can start flying again. All that remains is Shelly, my Den Den Mushi, who is on the table with Crocus’ Den Den Mushi. They have their own slime plate which they tend to cling to; I made it specifically so that they could get handed back to crabag, where a specific set of handspinners could, and do, tie them down before retiring to hive cyan and sealing the entrance behind them. All snails being hermaphroditic, the polite pronoun is, of course, “they”. Crocus didn’t have a second phone rig for Shelly, but I don’t have anyone to telephone except for him, so it doesn’t really matter. I can get a rig for her eventually. His number is in a little black notebook I made after he taught me to book bind.

 

“Captain, stop. Crabag doesn’t like it when you pull her claws like that.”

“Oh. I’m sorry Crabby! Ne, can you understand bugs Tailor?”

“I can understand, mutate, and control all arthropods and molluscs of a low enough brain function, yes. Er- I can understand bugs, most kinds of clams, barnacles, squid, octopi, spiders… lots of things, really.”

“Cool!”

“I think so too.”

 

I stand up and casually hoist Luffy up with me. He seems to enjoy hanging off my shoulder. I hadn’t realized, because Crocus really is a withered old man, but I’m actually the tallest person on the crew. Also everyone seems to be very uncomfortable for some reason. My kusarigama’s chain jingles in the wind off the sea; sea-birds call loudly.

Maybe they don’t like bugs or something?

Nah.

Who doesn’t like bugs? Although, those poachers being menaced by my very unhappy swarm of honeyjackets probably aren’t going to like bugs much after this. Then again, Laboon is my friend, so… Fuck poachers.

 

Anyway, after Whiskey Peak, Vivi became Vivi and now we’re helping her save her country. (Help me, Straw Hats, you’re my only hope.)  


 

 

About a week out to Alabasta, which as I recall is on Sandy Island, we run out of food.

Sanji is very leery of the scorpions, but he won’t let me cook either. We ran out of crabs last; the signal crabs aren’t fit for human consumption, so they’re still there, but everything else is gone.

There’s actually a teeming sea bug life beneath us- but it’s all krill or mussels or lobsters or deep swarms of shrimp we’d need a much bigger ship to get at. I can’t dive for anything, we’re sailing too fast and the water when we stop for the night is too deep especially without my wings. I’m reduced to only feeling them- only being aware of the food we could be having- and I can’t actually make it come closer.

It’s not my job to provide food for the crew, it’s Sanji’s, but- it’s frustrating. I’m-

Frustrated.

I’ve been feeding the least of Pinch Mama’s brood to the meatiest of her yearling daughters; they’re in the awkward stage when their venom is enough to make someone a little sick, but like a three day flu, not the full on death constrictions I like my poisonous swarm-members to be. Meanwhile, so long as I get enough protein into them, they’ll actually grow to be the size of reasonably large lobsters within a few days. I’ve been feeding them ants and stuff from the compost pile, and lots of water, and I’ve been carefully exercising them. By day three, Sanji is basically chain-smoking his hand rolled cigarettes, and I’m done with building up the food content of twenty four large lobster sized scorpions.

The most humane way to prepare them for cooking is to just to put them in a plain box and freeze the little meaty pinchers. I put them in the freezer so Sanji doesn’t notice he has bugs in his kitchen; I guard the freezer with spiders. Luffy gets eyed in my sleep, and slinks away with a twitchy grumble.

  


The next morning, I wake up before Sanji does, and start preparing the scorpions. Remove the terminal tail segment, where the poison is; should I skewer and grill them? Boil them? Hmm.

 

Good Morning Sanji.

“Ah, Tailor-kun, I thouuuuuUUUAAGH. BUGS. IN MY KITCHEN.”

“They’re fully edible. They taste a bit like lobster, actually. Maybe like really good beef jerky with a bit of a fishy taste? Not sure how to describe it.”

“ERGH. R-really? Um. Hm.”

“I’ll teach you how to prepare them the way I know how to, if. Ah. If you’d like?”

“I- sure. Y-yeah.”

“Okay. So- it’s pretty simple. Scorpions are predatory scavengers, so before cooking or serving, their gut needs to be removed, as do their stingers; however, for safety, it’s best to remove their stingers first. For these ones, I’ve already prepared them by freezing them; it sends them into a hibernative state, and increases the glycerol content of their bodies, making their meat… sweeter, I suppose. It’s the most… it’s the easy way to prepare a scorpion; they’re really just lobsters with venomous tails.”

“Okay. How do you prepare one normally?”

“Well, normally I grab them- here, if it’s alright I’ll show you with the one on my head?”

“E-erm. Um. I- uh. O-okay.”

“Alright- watch carefully.” I set the live but docile big Pincher on my head onto the counter. Sanji watches it carefully; my hand snakes forwards and grasps just beneath the bulb on her tail. Sanji’s eyebrow goes up. “Give me your hand.”

“...Alright.”

 

Sanji’s hands are really soft- callused and nicked and very warm in my own hands. His calluses are in different places than mine. I pull him to be shoulder to shoulder with me; I can see his pulse pounding at the corner of his clenched jaw. In the faint light before dawn, his hair looks like soft shaded wire and feather fluff in the light of the kitchen. He has tiny freckles all over where the sun burnt his skin. He’s very handsome. I watch as his adam’s apple bobs nervously; I absentmindedly rub my thumb over his.

 

“Watch my hand- see how I’m holding it, right behind the bulb?”

“Ah- ye-yes. Um.”

 

He’s blushing a little, but a hint of terror rings his dark blue-black eyes in white.

 

“I’m going to have you touch parts of the scorpion; you ready?”

 

He swallows. His hand is shaking a little, but when I squeeze, he squeezes back and his fear fades. He stands a little straighter; his shoulders drop. A shaky exhale.

 

“Y-yes.”

“Okay. This velvety part is actually her stomach; feel how soft and squishy it is?”

“She’s actually pretty- warm. Warmer than I was expecting, actually.”

“Ah, yeah. Bugs only work where it’s warm; her survival instincts aren’t working because she’s still cold internally, though.”

“Ah. Um- is the- shell?-”

“That’s what it’s called for our purposes, yeah-”

“It’s supposed to feel waxy like this?”

“Yep. Okay, now take the tail right where I’ve grabbed it- same angle and everything. Yes, just like that. When you hold a scorpion there, they cannot sting you.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll take her back now- watch. I’m putting these strong rubber bands over her claws, so she can’t pinch me; and now for the stinger. If you don’t have the hand strength to twist the stinger off like- this- you can use a pair of pliers or shears. After that, flip it, and- see there, the shape of the shell?”

“Oh, it looks just like a crab.”

“Exactly. Easiest to get to the stomach from there- use a small thin knife, like a boning knife, or a pin- or like this.”

 

I flick my black shining claws out and gut the still docile scorpion. Cold storage is good for that sort of thing.

 

“Do you want me to prepare the rest of them, or-”

“Y-yeah. Yes. I’ll stay- and. Um. Supervise.”

“Ah? Alright.”

 

I’ve snapped the bulb of the tail off of the live Pincher with one hand, pinning her to the counter with the other- I’m grilling them, I’ve decided. I stick the live pincher on a skewer, put the skewer in a block of cold butter in a tub, and finish preparing the rest of the scorpions- bulbs off, skewers in, bands removed, and all of them brushed in salt and pepper water and grilled to get a nice fond going. Then, bake all of them; I also have a canister of ants, which get crushed in a pestle with some water and a little ginger powder. Mix with a double-spoonful of honey, and Sanji tastes some from the spoon I hand him.

 

“It tastes- those are ants. They taste like lime, though. Like a marinade, or a sauce?”

“Yeah- they’re a good source of protein, iron, and calcium.”

“Interesting. I’m going to go out on a limb and say that spiders are edible too?”

“They’re basically soft shelled crabs, yeah.”

“Huh.”

“...We could make cricket pancakes if we had a binder.”

“We don’t even have flour.”

 

Sanji has a bleak expression on his face.

 

“Shit. Well- no, no, we could prepare them like a meat scramble. I think I have some rice and lentils in my things; we can use those.”

“But- those are your-”

“It’s alright Sanji. Really, it is. So long as we have spices, we can still make something- I can cull from the various bugs I have. We will not starve.”

“...thank you.”

 

I smile at him. He smiles back, but he’s shaking. I set the mortar and pestle aside and hug him- he hugs me back after a moment's hesitation. He’s warm and muscular and he smells of soap and cigarette smoke. The palm of my hand rubs into muscles pulled tight; they feel like river cobbles, those hard smooth stones, but Sanji is warm. Sanji is blushing. I’m kinda into hugging him though, so I nuzzle into the side of his neck and his shoulder before I let him go.

  


The scorpions come out of the oven and get brushed with the ant sauce before going back in for a quick moment to help them glaze. We have way more honey, and a specific blend of stingers and slightly different ants makes a delightful semi-sweet tea; heat makes the poisonous compounds of the scorpion’s venom inert. Honey tea, the rice with the dried veggies I had with spiced crickets and some reconstituted seaweed and coconut flakes, and everyone gets at least one big scorpion.

I set a full plate in Sanji’s hands and stare at him unmoving until he eats a little from each part of the plate. He actually eats all of the scorpion, and downs a full mug of the honey tea. There’s an easing of tension across his shoulders, and when I press my hip against his, he sighs and smiles for real all through his eyes. They’re shimmery and extra blue.

Plate everything in the kitchen; we’ll make a salad or something from the leftovers, because we have leftovers, because Sanji gets freaked out when all the food storage parts of his kitchen are empty. Part of my job is seeing to the comfort and safety of my crewmates, and I see no reason why this wouldn’t be a part of it.

I’m glad I finished the other things too; Nami, after she recovered, directed all of us in replacing the sails for the Going Merry.

 

Concerning the Going Merry: she is a caravel class ship. I’ve not yet read our ship’s log, so I’m unaware of the exact circumstances surrounding our crew’s acquisition of her. However, I can say more about what kind of ship she is based on my own observations and logical reasonings.

So.

A caravel is a small, highly maneuverable sailing ship first recorded in the 5th year of the modern calendar by the Baterillans to explore the Crescent ocean and the wider Sout. The lateen sails give it speed and the capacity for sailing windward, or beating. Caravels were used by Batarillians for oceanic exploration voyages during the 5th and 6th centuries in the Age of Discovery.

Until the 5th century, Soutens were limited to coastal navigation using the barge or balinger, ancient cargo vessels of the Median Sea with a capacity of around 50 to 200 tonnes. These boats were fragile, with only one mast with a fixed square sail that could not overcome the navigational difficulties of Lineward oceanic exploration, as the strong winds, shoals, and strong ocean currents easily overwhelmed their ability.

The caravel was developed for oceanic voyaging in about 451 CE, being based on existing fishing boats. Being smaller and having a shallow keel, the caravel can sail upriver in shallow coastal waters. With the lateen sails attached, it is a highly maneuverable boat and can sail much nearer the wind; while with the square Norten-type sails attached, it is very fast. Its economy, speed, agility, and power make it esteemed as a very fine sailing vessel- but it’s limited capacity for cargo and crew is the caravel’s main drawback.

 

Merry is a two masted caravel, one Norten sail, one lateen sail. She has a jib and a central steering rudder, or whipstaff. Her armaments consist of four cannons; one in the bow (the nose, pointing forwards), one in the stern, and one on each side. (Usopp ran me through drills to ensure that if needed, I can use the cannon in my sewing room.)

Going from top to bottom: we have a crow’s nest atop our mainmast, from which [ our flag ](http://vignette1.wikia.nocookie.net/onepiece/images/8/87/Straw_Hat_Pirates%27_Jolly_Roger.png/revision/latest?cb=20130314063139) flies proudly. I have put a small weatherproofed box up there, with binoculars, fidgeting toys, and unfoldable sun hats up there, and will soon have enough dirt collected to start growing gourds for water bottles. Down the mainmast, past the mainsail- which I have not yet added our mark to- towards the stern of the ship, there is Nami’s Orchard. It is a collection of three tangerine trees in large, heavy pots. I have also set up a composting barrel here, to make the most of our food waste and provide extra dirt and sustenance for Nami’s trees; although space is at a premium, considering the events of the past few days, an herb garden would not go amiss. Towards the bow of the ship is the Captain’s special seat, and the cloth cases which hold my laundry racks. Usopp helped me build a set of adjustable modular racks from which I can string and then suspend laundry- although we can dry smaller articles of clothing indoors, I prefer not to do so with bedsheets and larger linens, as the humidity that comes from such endeavors is not good for Merry.

The main room, in which someone can usually be found, is the kitchen, dining room, and steering room. The work flow of the room is perhaps not the best, although Sanji seems to make it work.

 

“I do indeed.”

“Am I talking out loud?”

“Yeah, but it’s interesting, so… I don’t mind. You have a nice voice, Tailor-kun.”

“Oh. Ah- thank you…?”

 

Where was I…? Right, main room. The refrigerator is a bit of a concern, seeing as it lacks any kind of lock; we could add one, of course, but it might be simpler to just replace it with a fridge that already has a lock built in, when next the opportunity comes.

Hm… I’ll think more on this later.

Breakfast time now.

 

I set out the food for the crew and Vivi, and they all sit to eat with a minimum of conversation. I sit across from Nami and eat my meal cheerfully. No one seems to be too enthused about eating.

 

“Neh, Sanji- I’m sorry I didn’t have a better variety of bugs for you to cook after we ran out of food. If I'd any thought that we’d be running short so soon after the last island, I would have certainly put more effort into expanding my various fodder sources- it’s not just scorpions and spiders and crickets and ants which are fully edible by humans after all. Thinking back on it, I suppose I really regret not grabbing some of those giant silkworms when I had the chance- of course, gathering enough mulberry leaves would have been… not fun.”

“Ah, Tailor-kun, that really shouldn’t be necessary- although I will admit, I hadn’t realized the full culinary applications of a well cooked arthropod.”

“Hmhmhmhm. Ah, if you don’t mind, when we get to Alabasta would you mind terribly having some help with the grocery shopping? I need to buy notions, findings, needles- maybe a sewing foot? Definitely a new pillow. It’d be fun.”

“Oh, ah, sure. That’s sounds fine.”

“I’m glad we got to cook together- I’m sure, what with all of our food being gone, it’s a bit disconcerting to be faced with bugs as food. Still, without other supplies, it wouldn’t do to be ungrateful. **I’m sure nobody on this crew would be so foolish as to ignore the efforts of your hard work. Especially not after our limited supplies were consumed so sneakily.** ”

 

My smile is beautiful. Sanji is beautiful. The food is beautiful. Vivi seems to be enjoying the meal, as does Carue. Luffy devoured his with a minimum of consideration, and seems to be quite happy. I smile at Nami and Usopp; Zoro is tasting each dish, and his eyebrows are rising with some odd emotion. I see him shrug out of the corner of one eye. My smile widens. Very faintly, the sound of bugs buzzing against cloth begins to sound. Zoro is eating with a faint half-smile on his face. I ever so gently tilt my head to the left. My neck pops- one, two, three. Four. I sincerely hope I don’t have to go to Seven.

Usopp and Nami eat their food. They seem faint. I do hope we get to Alabasta soon- the lack of food these past few days surely must be disagreeing with them.

Zoro is snickering. Well, we find our amusements where we can.

 

After breakfast, I leave Sanji to the dishes. Laundry day is either today or tomorrow- best start getting everything changed now, while everyone’s out.

 

“Tailor, you don’t have to-”

“Sanji. My job is crew sewing professional- I work with fabric. All fabric. If you don’t want me doing your laundry, I don’t want you cooking my food.”

 

I glare at him.

He huffs back.

 

“Fine. ...Thank you.”

“Of course! Thank you, too.”

 

Where was I? Right, laundry. The Men’s dorm tends to get rank faster than the women’s; I personally consider it a matter of pheromones and inferior hygiene practices. Usopp’s sheets so far tend to be filthiest, while Zoro’s acquire a stench of unwashed man within about four days. Sanji is fastidious and neat, but his sheets tend to smell alarmingly of sandalwood and tobacco smoke. Luffy’s sheets, of course, smell like meat, and food. They’ve at least gotten better about putting all their laundry into the basket, now that there’s more than one basket for them to throw their dirty shit in. I haven’t quite gotten the system down yet, but I am getting good at stripping all the bedsheets and pillowcases, replacing everything, grabbing both baskets and leaving an empty behind- I’m no one’s mother, so I won’t be picking up the laundry that isn’t in the basket.

Women’s dorm is much smaller and less stenchy, but poor Vivi needs more clothing- two sets of outfits only works when you’re not needed to work the rigging. Nami almost has too _many_ clothes; I’ll have to talk to her about culling the things she doesn’t really like or wear. Space is at a premium, after all.

I don’t like using soap on laundry except for getting out stains; it’s hard on the fabric. I much prefer beating the dirt out with a paddle; there’s a great big flat rock on deck for just such a purpose. The morning is soon filled with the clack-clack-clack of laundry. Zoro helps sometimes, but he’s got no real talent for it- I mostly let him work on the sheets that only need a quick run through the hot water, not the real stains. Bless him, he’s got no arm for it at all.

Anyway, hang the sheets first, then the underwear (bras before panties and boxers, always), then socks(whites first), then shirts (inside out), then pants (double clothespins). There’s an order to these things. Good hot wind today- everything should be dry quite soon.

Oh and apparently there was an enemy okama- really? Good lord. Well, it is the Line. Anyway, I have an ‘X’ on my left arm now. I cover it with an armband and think on it no more.

 

I think I’m going to play some music today. Perhaps there’s [ a song ](https://youtu.be/JE2a8_Y3bkE) in my playbook that’s worth playing. Bink’s Sake is quite the favorite of pirates near and far, but it does wear thin after several years of playing it… I honestly don’t know why the various pieces of music are in my Book. Someone liked modern classical I guess. I mean, Dvorzak is always nice to listen to, but still. It’s a little odd. Also, perhaps not the best thematically for this moment in time, but dammit I got tired of listening to Bink's Sake about a week after I learned to play it!

  


Wao. Much bugs. Very buzz. Hehehee. I’m lying on the deck, giggling. So much bugs very buzz. Buzz buzz buzz.

Heyyyy~ Sanji~!

“Tailor, why are you cOVERED IN ANTS. TAILOR WHY ARE YOU COVERED IN ANTS. ANTS. TAILOR.”

“There are so many bugs Sanji it’s a whole desert full of bugs I’ve never seen before and we’re almost there Sanji there’s bees and butterflies and moths and crickets and scorpions and I want them all Sanji sanji sanjiiiiii hi. You’re really handsome.”

“TAILOR-KUN STOP BEING COVERED IN ANTS I CANNOT BE RESPONSIBLE FOR MY ACTIONS. TAILOR-KUN. PLEASE.”

“Kayyyyyyyy~”

I stop being covered in ants. The ants ate my clothes. All of Sanji’s exposed skin is turning lobster colored. Cooked lobster colored.

 

Is Sanji a cooked lobster?

“He’s definitely in a steamy atmosphere.”

“Heeeeeeeey~ Namiiiiiiiiii~”

“So. We’re coming up on an island?”

“Oooooooh yeaaaaaaaah. So many bugs. Pffft!”

Sanji threw his jacket over me. The collar got stuck in my mouth. It’s so warrrrrrrrm~! Weee!

“I AM GOING BACK TO THE KITCHEN.”

“You might as well take a cold shower Sanji-kun- if she’s like this the rest of the day, I’ll cook free of charge so you can take care of her.”

“GOODBYE I WILL SEE YOU ALL LATER.”

Awww. Sanji leeeeeeeeeeft. So many bugs. Weeeeeeeeee~! Wiggle wiggle limbs are wiggle. Hello Nami and Vivi! I am connected with many exciting bugs living exciting bug lives!

“Hello, Tailor-kun. Where do you keep your clothing?”

“It’s under the couuuuuch Princess Vivi~ no that’s not right, princesses are highnesses- Oh no. I did the thing again didn’t I.”

“Again? This happens often enough for there to be a whole thing?”

“If there’s a sufficient number of bugs I haven’t examined before, yes. I’ll have to expand the signal fly fleet, my forewarning was not nearly broad enough. Hmm.” I pull on Sanji’s jacket and stand smoothly. My underwear is a pair of wasp-striped black and yellow boy shorts going to my mid thigh. I don’t actually have enough boobs for a bra. My hips are wider than my shoulders, but only slightly.

 

A nearly flat chest, combined with an hourglass figure- and being twenty years old… That combination means only one thing.

“You’re really twenty?”

“Yes, I really am.”

“...that’s- you’re a **_Fairy?”_ **

“Exiled, but. Yes, Vivi. I am. Anyway, I’m going to go put some clothes on.”

 

And then I walk away. Vivi is nice. She’s not my crewmate, but she’s nice. Considering she’s a peer, I’d almost be okay with telling her outright. But I haven’t explained to my crew yet- so there’s no way I can explain it to her.

  
  


If you’re a member of royalty, there are things you learn as a matter of course. Sanji, for example, should have learned exactly who and what I am.

“I did. It just took me a while to remember.”

“Mm.”

“...Fiddler’s Green is real then?”

“Yes. I was born there.”

“Ah. ...is it really-”

“Music really is played all the time, by every person. The booze really doesn’t run out. People really don’t know what things like boat oars or sextants are. Yes, Sanji. It’s real. It’s all real.”

“...green land full of peace...”

“Yes.”

“May I have the pleasure of your name, miss?”

“Proper manners dictate an introduction first, sir.”

“I am Sanji Poisson Vinsmoke of the North Blue, fifth in line for the Northern Throne.”

“I am Portgas D. Mab Tailor Morgan, former Queen of the Sky Blue, nominal second in line for the Sky Throne.”

“A pleasure to meet you, your highness.”

“To you as well, your highness. Thank you for letting me borrow your coat.”

“N-no problem.”

“...The lovely Mr. Prince is actually a fish?”

“...Shut up, Miss Spider.”

 

I laugh.

 

“It’s fine to call me Tailor still.”

“I’d prefer Sanji, myself.”

 

He smiles.

I giggle. He turns a fetching shade of red. There’s a phrase for what’s going on with his skin, or maybe a word, but damned if I can remember what it is.

“Blushing. I’m- I’m blushing.”

“Ah. I like it.”

Sanji is snickering now.

 

I throw his coat at him, and go back to the women’s dorm before he can pull it off his head.

  


I didn’t actually get rid of any of the ship’s original cotton accoutrements that I replaced; I’ve been spinning it into new fabric. I’ve had enough time to sew it in the appropriate way; double thick silk socks, my cavalier boots, voluminous cotton-silk blended pants of a soft sand color which tuck neatly into my boots and a long sleeved white shirt of plain finespun cotton with no buttons nor seams. My underwear is fine as is; everything else goes on with a minimum of fuss. It feels strange to cover my back, even now. I wear a significantly thicker stripe of kohl around my eyes, and swipe on thick white zinc-powder over every centimeter of exposed skin. No leather-skin for me, thank you.

The rest of the crew has appropriate garments- especially considering the laundry is dry and folded and neatly in baskets in the dorms for them to put away, but I’m still no one’s mother. My crewmates can pick their own clothing, I think. I mean, I hope.

The only other things I have that would be of any use are my water pack, which I had designed for use during eventual flight maneuvers; the shawl I wore while we were in the Sakura Kingdom, and a veil I spun while sleeping- a dupatta. This time, considering the danger, I take the ant hive. With the consolidation of my spider hive, I have one hive-cask that lies empty. I have honey jackets cover the inside with smooth wax, and then fill it with water too.

No dehydration.

I can already feel the heat. I better offer the zinc-powder to the crew; we don’t actually have any sun-lotion. Chopper hasn’t had the supplies to make any- and he’s a pharmacist first and foremost, so he surely would have.

Nami and Sanji take me up on the offer, but the rest decline. Chopper enlists my help in thoroughly dusting him down, which I am happy to do. He looks like a ghost reindeer.

  
  


Nanohana is a city that is full of flowers. Bees and honey lurk in the eaves of these ancient roofs, and quiet gardens of lavender and verbena, ocotillo and fairy duster, rolling plains of poppy, their bloody red faces kissed by bees and moths and butterflies. Spiders lurk in quiet burrows; crickets sing on wet stones. Cicadas screech their love songs on the drooping branches of the willow tree.

Salt brine from the sea and the overwhelming smell of flowers; the taste of dry, rasping heat. Honey, figs, dates, and spices. Cheese from the goat and hot cooked meats. Oh yes.

 

I like Nanohana. Reminds me of home.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It is, Vivi.”

  
  


Solifugae is an order of animals in the class Arachnida known variously as camel spiders, wind scorpions, sun spiders, or solifuges. The order includes more than 1,000 described species in about 153 genera. Despite the common names, they are neither true scorpions (order Scorpiones) nor true spiders (order Araneae) – though they are more closely related to scorpions than to spiders. Although the Solifugae are considered to be endemic indicators of desert biomes, they occur widely in semidesert and scrub. Some species also live in grassland or forest habitats. Solifugae generally inhabit warm and arid habitats, including virtually all warm deserts and scrublands except on the Red Line nearing Mariejoa. They can grow anywhere from 3 centimeters to 8 meters long, and rumors of their extreme speed and aggression are generally exaggerated.

Usopp is still screaming, but I’ve already gotten all the wind scorpions off of him. They aren’t even the biggest on this island, these are just dinner plate sized ones- not terribly dangerous. Okay, I mean, if they’d bitten him he might never have walked the same again, but still.

I have a swarm of Danger Ladies- honeyjackets- carry the most agreeable Wind Scorpions back to the ship, where Crabby is setting up various holding areas for them. They are a lovely waxy orange color. Delightful. Pest bugs are being airlifted to the ship in droves; port towns are always good for feeding the troops.

  
  


I close my hand around a man’s wrist, the knife in his hand gleaming oddly. A quick shove of one thumb into a pressure point, a sharp twist locks bone to bone. Shoulder to shoulder swivel hips and push Vivi and the man quite apart. Hand comes up takes the knife jab through layers of fabric and slam it into the earthen wall behind him.

Vivi squeaks.

 

“So Sanji-kun, if I give you a list, will you get the things I wanted?”

“Of course, Tailor-kun.”

“Lovely, thank you.”

 

I place myself just behind Vivi’s left shoulder, about a pace behind her, in fact. I hand my neatly calligraphed list and my clip of money to Sanji, and spend a moment adjusting my shawl and veil. I knot my shawl around my hips, and tuck my veil into a neat roll of twisted fabric that protects the whole of my face. Only my black rimmed eyes and shining round glasses peek through now. Resettle my water pack and my water cask on my back; my kusarigama’s chain got threaded with a long yellow ribbon so it wouldn’t jingle in the wind.

We lose the Captain about two minutes into port. On his return, immediately after Sanji’s -who brought two sets of sexy clothing and enough over-robes for everyone... You know, I’m so glad he read through my entire list, though if he spent my money on sexy women's clothing and didn’t get me any, we’re going to have words.

Zoro snorted at me. I huff at him.

Oh dear, Captain brought marines with him. Welp. Looks like we're running away now.

 

According to Nami’s mighty fists, I’m not allowed to fight the Kung Fu Dugongs anymore. Also, Luffy’s brother is nice. His freckles are cute I suppose, but a little too prominent for my tastes. Attraction is strange; I like Sanji’s freckles, but they’re tiny sun-kisses. More tellingly, I like every expression, every emotion I’ve seen on Sanji’s face- even the fear and the anger and the pain, I’ve enjoyed seeing them. Is that weird? I think that’s a little weird. But Ace- the only thing I noticed about his face is an overall aesthetic that is mildly pleasing, but… Sanji’s face with it’s charming asymmetry is more pleasing.

Portgas D. Ace- I should- ow ow owowowowowowow OW. Okay, no, I guess not. Whatever I’ve forgotten is going to stay forgotten, I suppose.

 

Also, Ace is a jerk. Like, a giant, flaming jerk. Possibly also gay. At the very least he’s a bisexual, no-one runs around without a shirt on the reg and he’s not trying to advertise something? Bullshit. Although, his gigantic back tattoo of some dude named Whitestache or something might have something to do with it, but- I would have paid more attention to him, but I was a little too focused on the hideous thing he called a hat.

Really his whole look was courting disaster, but his- thing, on his head. Comedy and tragedy masks on a string of red glass beads? Fine.

Bright orange nubuck felted into a cowboy hat? Sure. Not my style, but not my hat either.

A string of red glass beads hanging down like a lanyard with a weirdly demonic looking skull stopper at the end? Okay, but I’m judging your sense of style really hard over here.

All of them together? And you’re not wearing a shirt, of course, and for some reason you think a thigh-belt over shorts- excuse me, a blue tactical belt, in some sort of knock-off canvas if I’m any judge- is perfectly reasonable, along with a matchy-matchy nubuck orange felt-pleather belt with a giant useless loop over the back where a canteen could possibly go. If you even had a canteen. And of course the avocado green scabbard- it’s not a sword, it’s too big to be a knife, it’s not a dao or a jian, it’s just there and what kind of scabbard needs four straps to stay on and together? A shitty one.

Props for matching the elbow compressor with your overall look, though. I’m glad medical necessities are starting to become more aesthetically beautiful, and not just glasses frames either. I mean, my granny has six different legs with intense carvings because she’s proud of her missing leg. Though she’s also kinda crazy. Granu-ow ow ow fuck.

 

Portgas D-ow! Ow ow ow!

 

I said all of this out loud, but not very loudly. It was really fast too in a sort of horrified shriek? But it petered off in the end there, and I mumbled about my grandmother for a while. Seriously, that crazy woman drinks cough syrup mixed with paint-thinner she keeps in her fake leg. She goes through three bottles on the daily. Madness. Pure madness.

My head is splitting from the pain of trying to remember something important- I literally just said it today, what the hell was it?

 

Ace was nice enough to laugh my tirade off, but I saw real hurt in his eyes. I feel bad about it still. I mean. His outfit is goddamn dreadful, and offers very little protection from perverts and the elements, but- I still shouldn’t have dragged him like that. It was wrong of me.

He vanished into the night before I could apologise to him. I wanted to apologise in such a way as to allow him to save some face, but- he was gone before it would have been appropriate to take him aside.

And another regret for my rather small, but absolutely terrible, handful of shames.

And I still can’t remember what I wanted to talk to him about!

Shit!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mm. Irony. Tastes like missed opportunities and DELICIOUS AU POTENTIAL HEYOOOOOOOO~!


	7. Kephri's Midday Fighters

If there was water in Erumalu, I’d have probably really liked it. Unfortunately, it was covered in sand and grudges against the living. Luffy drank my cask of water about an hour and a half after we got out of Erumalu, and the only reason I didn’t cover him in ants is it wouldn’t have gotten the water back. I did however find  [ a parasol and hat set ](https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/MQY_yVZX3r5TrZMGKCN3CHb9A37Fx4db8SwCttUktL4gxGm20cY2m5soyrYzGtjq1sMZ2i1hrVvlK72KvVpMzVGoMo7CrBODZgGKPBmhXKAyfdPTZhBJ_vUfNavMqR7AgIwhiGJ3) in a sand dune- colored what Vivi called Erumalu green.

The parasol has a sword inside it for some delightful reason, which I personally approve of wholeheartedly. Considering the overall thrust of my deportment and education as a child, it’s really more surprising that I know how to use a kusarigama, not that I know how to use a sword. This particular blade is meant for a woman’s hand, and has a name of it’s own. It’s faint, but quite present. I can’t actually tell what it’s named, however, I can just tell it’s there. It’s not telling me it’s name- neither sword nor ghost- and while I can hear the names of powerful spears, this isn’t a spear. 

Which is fine- I'm only nominally a sword fighter. 

 

Zoro’s Wado Ichimonji is very powerful, and would be overwhelming in short order if I were to attempt to wield it. Nui Hasami and Makijaku -the two portions of my kusarigama- while named, are nowhere near the strength of any of Zoro’s swords, especially not Wado Ichimonji. (Which doesn’t mean I couldn’t take Zoro in a fight if needed. I could. I just really don’t want to.)

(You cannot pay me enough to even touch Sandai Kitetsu; that sword is cursed and thirsts for blood. Yubashiri is alright I suppose, but Zoro’s going to outstrip that sword’s available power quite soon- and he’s not going to get good enough to make up the difference in skill until it’s too late. I’ll prepare a funerary shroud for Yubashiri. Of his three swords, Yubashiri just isn’t going to make it. It’s Doomed.)

 

The hat is a simple woman’s hat, and fits me rather well, all things considered. The extra shade makes the trek to Yuba a bit more palatable, considering the distinctive lack of water. Yuba, when we got there, had a minor dispute between termites that I was able to resolve by taking the young queen from the ancient manse of her fore-mothers. The Young Lady, her retinue of guards, hareem, and handmaids, and her multitude of daughter-peasantry built their new palace in my cask. I have a wood-eating hive now. I’ll have to gather sea-reeds and wood bits; they can probably set up a whole trading system with the other hives. Ants, Honeyjackets, Spiders, and Termites- yeeeees. This is a good arsenal. I am pleased.

There’s an old man in Yuba, digging up water where a spring once flowed. He’s mostly finding dirt. I set down the casks of ants and termites, and have them both start digging. Their industry results in a steadily deepening well ringed in sleek bug-spit made mud. I shade their work area with the parasol, and listen to the sword’s faint murmur. As night falls, and their work becomes less productive, I recall them to their hives and stand to return to the women’s house, where we’re sleeping tonight. It is then that the sword- and the ghost attached to the hat and parasol- deign to tell me their names.

I listen. I suppose now that Aradia is Queen, I’m merely a Princess again. Still, being a princess of the Green Lands has responsibilities- and even if I’ve been exiled, I… I can’t just stop being who I am. It would seem that my memory isn’t so terrible after all. Aradia only damaged my mind- she didn’t break it.

  
  


Vivi’s eyes glisten in the darkness when I tell her the story of the emerald green hat and bumbershoot. That’s the proper name of a parasol or umbrella with a sword in it; bumbershoot.

 

“The original owner of this hat and bumbershoot set was named Djinni Scheherazade. She was a young noblewoman from Erumalu, and her uncle had secured for her a place in Alubarna as a handmaiden for the Princess of that time, Nefretari Verbena. Miss Scheherazade was poorly educated and not all that smart, a deadly combination at any time in court, but especially then. The best thing for Scheherazade at that time would have been a husband who could keep her at home; being quite beautiful, there was no end to her suitors. Unfortunately, one of those was the king himself. Add in a jealous queen and a severe lack of sense on Ms. Djinni’s part, and the eventual end of this series of events was- well. Quite frankly inevitable.

She says the blade’s name could be Nui Hari- if I want to use it, I may.”

“...Did she say anything else?”

“She said that she wished to beg forgiveness of the Queen, and barring that, the Princess. She says she never meant for such tragedy to befall her beloved kingdom, or her dear friend.”

“...I forgive her. I, Nefretari Vivi, forgive Djinni Scheherazade of her involvement in the eventual murder of Nefretari Verbena.”

 

There’s the sound of a chime, and a young woman with heavily slanted eyes, and a soft sweet smile is visible for all of ten seconds in the women’s house. She is dressed in an emerald green gown some thousand years out of fashion, and she gazes at Vivi for a moment before bowing gracefully. A high soft voice whispers ‘thank you’ before she vanishes.

I catnap, but wake again in the coldest hours, the dark wolf-time of the night. In those quiet hours just before dawn, the hives work diligently. When the sun rises, the soft emerald fabric blazes with golden light. The sky is a furious sort of blue.

There is water, deep beneath the surface. The old man gives the Captain a small cask of water. I ask, and get, permission to refill my water pack. Thus refortified for the trek ahead, we journey onwards; behind us, the deep well in Yuba is protected by diligent hives of termites, their spires and flumes stretching higher into the air. Air pressure alone forces water to burble to the surface; and it is the Dirt Ladies own diligence that keeps the sand from engulfing it all once again.

Vivi nodded her head in a bow to me, which I returned. There’s no call to have old men working like that when- nevermind.

Captain looked at me, and he looked at the  [ mound ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/70/ce/d5/70ced51b7f43b2b4c00b0b4c589d2eaf.jpg) that had arisen and was steadily pumping water out and then he smiled at me. I smiled back because I tend to smile back, though… I’m not really sure why.

I feel like I would have, Before.

 

We walk through quite a lot of sand. I settle into a steady pace, and zero in on Rainbase quite quickly.

I know how this story is going to end.

So does Captain. When he flops down into the sand, I settle next to him and drink some water. I’m not thirsty, but I’m not dumb either.

No dehydration.

Vivi and Captain argue quite fiercely. Everyone seems to be very concerned, taking sides in their argument even- but I’m not.

As I thought before, I know how this story ends.

 

“Neh, Tailor- aren’t you going to say something?”

“I thought our course of action was obvious, Captain.”

“Eh?”

“We’re going to kick Crocodile’s ass, right?”

“Shishishishi! Damn right!”

 

Crocodile’s Red Dawn is coming for him, sure as the tides. Nui Hari hums in my hand. Soon, my companion. Soon.

  
  


 

There’s a kingdom beyond the sea, where sailors dreamed of dying; a green land, full of peace. Where mirth and plenty are there for the having, and fiddles play on into the night. Dancers never tire there; drinks never run out. The wind is calm and sweet with growing things, and the laughter of happy folk rings through the dawn.

To get there, a sailor must take an oar from a longboat, and set stride towards the mountains; they must walk and walk, never leaving the oar behind. Until, at last, they might come to a place where the people there ask the sailor “what is that on your shoulder?” Then, it is said, the sailor has found Fiddler’s Green, and they may stay there forever.

There are islands in the Sky, and of those islands the crown jewel of them all- of all the scattered kingdoms- is Fairisle, whence fairies came. Of the island itself, I can say little, other than to say that Fiddler’s Green is the capital city, the only port, and that every legend about it is entirely true. The people who live in Fiddler’s Green- the first people were musicians from Queen Ariel’s court, and chose to settle there as the views from that green cape by the sea were inspiring. Through the generations, every child of the city learned something of music- if not how to make it, then how to make instruments, it’s history, even the appreciation of it.

Similarly, the booze never runs out because literally everyone and their grandparents are making some kind of rotgut in their back room; mangos, dates, and sugar are household plants, and everyone always has their own particular favorite of the alcohols that can be made there. Mine is actually arrak, not rum. Mango wine is a bit lighter, but it’s mostly a child’s drink.

More than that, I cannot say.   
  


I can, however, say the names and some of the histories of the Queens who ruled over Fairisle.

 

The first was Ariel, who it is said came from the seafoam; and when her kingdom rose into the heavens, she returned to her beloved oceans. Common consensus in the family is that Ariel was probably a mermaid or fishwoman, and also that she’s almost certainly still alive somewhere; my Dana could confirm this either way, but won’t. They’re like that. 

My Grana Una became queen when Ariel left, and when the time came they abdicated. She’s a sage now, lives in a cave; I think also runs the Office of Tombs, making her Gran Oralie, the Queen of Hell. She’s also great fun to hang out with at parties, as she always brings her own incredibly powerful rum. Although the story of which battle exactly changes every time, it’s definitely true that she lost her left leg in battle; she keeps a giant flask in it now. It’s usually full of her favorite horrible rum which tastes like a cross between cough syrup and paint thinner. Also she's kinda really gross.

Even so, Gran Una is pretty dope.

Her sibling, Elphame, guards Saturn. It’s… it’s basically useless, now. It’s still useable, but- you’d have to get past Elphame. Er, Dana Elphame- they were a pirate before, during, and after the Void Century. I don’t actually know how old they are, and I don’t want to. 

If I tried to fight either of them, I’d lose.

 

My mother, Morgan, was crazy. Not the kind of crazy that’s like, dangerous to other people- she was an entertaining sort of mad. Functional in daily society with management, which she had, but. Well. She died when I was about thirteen. Rockslide. My sisters and I were never the same after that. That’s not right- ow.

Morgan, being queen, had a full hareem. With her death, the birth order of us three girls became very important. For various political and practical reasons, I went with my legal father, Alberich, who ran the dry-docks in the caves near town. I was fourteen, I think. 

A lot of shit went down in the next two years, and when Tatiana, my older sister, became queen, everything seemed like it would be alright. That’s not right- ow ow.

It wasn’t. It wasn’t alright.

It took myself and my younger sister, Aradia, to kill her in the end. That’s not right- ow ow ow.

Aradia was all of fifteen- and while I wasn’t much older, being sixteen, birth order was still of paramount importance.

So I was declared Queen.

I rebuilt the country after that; our battle against Titania was so awful it took about a year to get everything back to normal. That’s also about when I lost Puck. 

Aradia told me there was a- shortage. That’s not right- OWOWOWOW.

I suppose a kind of madness took me then. I don’t think I’ll ever be okay about that.

  
  
  


I thought of all of this while we were in Rainbase, dreamt of it while we rode on the back of a perverted crab (note to self: avoid drowning if at all possible; consider re-learning to swim at some point), mused on it while we rode on Super Sonic Duck-back to Alubarna, while I snuck through the city and gathered a massive swarm of angry insects thick enough to blacken the sky with my rage. Then I had to set aside picking at the logical inconsistencies of my memory aside, because there’s a war on and I’ve sworn to help as best I can.

No more time to hesitate; let’s do this.

I’d been mulling the thought over for a few hours; Usopp’s ideas, my own understanding of the mechanical requirements for flight, and the fact that my calling of the Swarm called all the bugs I left on the ship too.

It takes but a moment for the specific bugs I need to come together in my hands.

 

Pinch Mama clings so elegantly; the Young Lady provided the cooling systems and the low-energy metabolic processes I’d require; Scarf’s incredibly flexible chitin and the Spinners astonishingly high-tensile strength muscle; the ants high rate of regeneration; and Falkor has the wings. A dash of Crabby’s powerfully strong shell, a little stroke of Shelly’s telepathy for pure responsiveness. On a hunch, I press my hand to my neck and crack it and my hunch is right. I know exactly where and how to make the input leads on the underside of the prosthetic wing-bug I’m making. I’m glad I never lost those muscles now.

I mold them together into a single heavy egg, thorny and covered over with feathery spines. The thornpearl is not going to be big enough if I don’t cheat. 

This is going to hurt.

I hold the thornpearl in one hand and pick the lock of a butcher’s shop with the other. With one hand I ransack all the meat I can find, drop it into one massive pile only just taller than my waist. Honeyjackets soon turn it into a slurry; an enormous seething pile of chittering insects and the scent of blood. Exotic spices and ammonia. In that dim room there came to be a seething blackness; it’s sharply itching legs crawled up my body and seethed over my hands. The spiraling pearl of potential I held grew with each chitinous touch of shell to shell.

Eventually, the thornpearl was just about the size of my own head, and squirming to be born. Final check, and then- I hatch it. The migraine is not as bad as it could be- turning bugs into components inside an egg is less taxing than other options. Good to know.

 

A set of four tear-drop shaped wings, long and black as pitch; a slim flat coiling of legs and an abdomen that I feed the last of my water. It steadily expands; metabolic processes and chemicals undergoing startup sequences. A specialized pair of wings I designed to be like a pair of cotyledon leaves and stuck onto a specialized rig that clips onto my glasses, directly over the fabric of my veil. They break off the inside of the shell cleanly; I press them onto my glasses with a minimum of fuss. I strip out of my shirt and shawl, let the bug cling to my back. The connection drives me to my knees.

Burning white hot agony from what once was; grinding pain from my own hasty actions ricocheting through my skull. My breasts and skin and face become covered in blood-soaked dust; sweat streams from my body. I writhe in agony. 

My screams are locked between my teeth; my glasses are fogged, but clear as sensation changes from overwhelming agony to flickering memory sharpening into the ink black shards of reality. I remember now. Leave the shell of yourself behind; you don’t need those right now.

I can always make myself more clothes.

  
  


I walk out of the blood-splattered butcher shop and kick myself into the sky. Sharp jink and then Blink to the clocktower; maybe I’ll see my crewmates there? Flick left then right serpentine; bank the windward flow. Blink to a low sill and flick, one two three- there! I Blink down to where Vivi is talking to the crew, set my boots to the dirt. No time to exult in the feeling of flying-

 

“-it must be centrally located!”

“As far as I can tell, the clocktower is the most central point of this city- it was here before the palace was.” I say.

“Well, of course, as part of the- WHERE IS YOUR SHIRT-? OH MY HEAVENLY SOBEK-”

“ **Now’s not the time to praise the gods, there’s a war on!** ”

“Y-yes! Right! Clocktower!”

“I did a fly-by earlier, and checked with my Swarm; there are two high-level Baroque Works agents standing guard over a giant cannon at the top of the tower. -Sanji, is now really the time? If you’re into the “covered in blood, dirt, sweat, and bug-guts” aesthetic, okay, because Mab Tailor’s down with whatever.”

“Eurgh. Hngh. No. No it’s fine. Sorry.”

“Make for the Clocktower, then. Tailor, provide air support.”

“Roger roger, Nami.”

  
  


I grin, and Blink back into the air. A joyful whoop bursts from my mouth, followed by raucous cackling. I catch one Baroque Works agent by the shoulder and use him as a flail. Fifteen people go down in three hits. My laughter is getting, somehow, louder.

The Swarm snarls over crowds of fighting soldiers. This is how phobias start. The sky is black with my swarm, and Sanji is blanching out of pure terror. I’ll have to do something nice for him. Hmm.

Maybe a hug?

Maybe let him touch my ass? Although he does have that boob fetish, which is a little weird- I mean, it’s not like I have all that much to fetishize? Then again, never underestimate the power of hormones.

 

NOT TODAY YOU BAROQUE WORKS PIECE OF SHIT!

“Nice one Tailor!”

“Thank you, Nami! FUCK YOU MURDEROUS SCUM!”

“...she’s really having a good time...” says Vivi, a bit breathlessly.

 

I’d comment but I’m a little busy BEATING THE EVER LOVING PISS OUT OF THESE ASSHOLE DISSIDENTS. I don’t know about the crew, but I’m having a great time here. Woo. Skydropkick is quite possibly the most fun move in my old arsenal; Drift lets me dodge bullets even when there should be no way for me to dodge. Oh gosh it’s been so long since I’ve been in a real pitched battle, I’ve never felt so free in my life. This is wonderful. I mean, it’s terrible what’s happened to Vivi’s country but gosh do I love a good fight.

Oh god, maybe I am a battle maniac. Titania might have been… he might have been right. I mean, he usually was, but. Hm. I’m. Conflicted. On the one wing, every time Titania was right, it was never about something necessarily good. On the other wing, it’s not terribly surprising that I enjoy fighting- considering that I’ve been fighting for years, it’s about time I got damn good at it and found some sort of joy in it. On the next wing, battle maniacs tend to fight when there’s no real need for it. On the last wing, I’m a pirate.

Hmm.

I’ll talk to Zoro about this, he’ll probably know what to do.

Oh my, I haven’t stopped laughing at all.

  
  
  


I shadow Mr. Pell as he carries the bomb into the sky, but at enough of a distance to ensure I don’t get caught in the blast. Zoan-types are physically powerful, but that’s a very large bomb. And then it explodes.

I lose sight of Mr. Pell.

The shockwave knocks me for a six; I soothe my Swarm, send everyone back home. Good work, ladies and gentlemen. The shockwave was actually bad enough that it knocked… I think I’ll call her Falkor II. Falkor II was knocked unconscious by the blast, and I’m falling. The first raindrop slaps into my nose. I’ve never fallen slower than the rain before. 

This is kinda cool. The rain is wonderfully cold. I can hear Vivi shouting something about fighting? Oh, everyone stop fighting, that’s much more like her.

Hmm. Not entirely sure how I’m going to land this one. It’s been so long since I fought like this, I forgot how much it actually takes out of me to fly- even without wings attached, this kind of fighting takes an astonishing amount of energy. When I can move my limbs again, I’ll give Luffy a run for his money at the table.

The ground’s getting pretty close.

 

This might really hurt. I mean, this isn’t the first time I’ve done this, I actually learned to do this at school- SANJI WHAT THE FUCK-

“OW. OW OW OW.”

“GUH! MY LOVELY-”

“GODDAMNIT WHY DID YOU DO THAT I ACTUALLY KNOW HOW TO LAND SAFELY WHEN MY WINGS STOP WORKING OW OW FUCK-”

“I WILL NOT LET A LOVELY WOMAN FALL TO THE EARTH WHEN I CAN CATCH HER-”

“IF YOU WEREN’T SO CUTE I’D SMACK YOU RIGHT NOW-”

“YOU THINK I’M CUTE?”

“YES. YOU DORK.”

 

His giddy, goofy expression turns into one of wincing embarrassment when I lock my limbs around him and snap Falkor II’s wings straight into the onrushing sky. We land with a vicious thump.

Sanji’s whole body tenses as we hit. My face is pressed into his shoulder; his arms are like steel pythons squeezing my waist. My headache doubled when I took direct control of Falkor II. Outstanding. 

 

I unfold my legs from around his waist and press my feet into the ground. I raise my head and scowl into his unrepentant blue eyes. Sweat has stuck his bangs to his face; I’m close enough to see every freckle. I’m close enough to feel his hot breath on my face. It smells like- he smells like cigarettes, sandalwood musk with a hint of citrus, the briney rot of fishwater. We stare at each other.

Sanji is blushing again. I am too, but mostly out of rage.

Sanji moves like he’s going to let go of me, but I can’t actually support my weight on my legs right now. I grip him a bit more firmly when he lets go. He grins, then scoops me up; one arm wrapping around my lower back, the other behind my knees. I scrunch my eyes shut when the bright sunshower sparks light into my eyes, drives a nailspike into my brain. My arm around his neck goes a bit rigid, which also hurts like a motherfucker.

I don’t think I whimpered or anything, but the pain of it must have shown on my face.

 

“Alright, Tailor?”

“Ah, I- I’ve been better.”

“What’s wrong?!?”

“Well, aside from you catching me-”

“I wasn’t going to let you fall-”

“ASIDE FROM THAT- I’ve got a bit of a migraine. Flash mutations are easiest done in the egg, true, but making that egg is a bit of a literal pain. Ow.”

“So, you’re saying you made your wings?”

“Yeah, it’s actually a giant bug that’s acting as a prosthetic- SANJI IF YOU’RE GOING TO CARRY ME YOU CAN’T TRIP LIKE THAT I CAN’T ACTUALLY CATCH MYSELF VERY WELL RIGHT NOW OH MY GOD-”

“SORRY, s-sorry, sorry. Won’t happen again. Sorry.”

“Jeeze... It’d be better if the arm supporting my back was higher. Or maybe if I was pig-a-back?”

“But how am I going to look at your beautiful face if you’re on my back?”

“Oh, I dunno; you could probably look at my face a lot more if we were-”

“No, no- you stop that-”

“-and I could be convinced to let you rub your hands all over my-”

“UM ANYWAY. WHAt about the rest of you, are you alright? You were fighting so hard...”

“Mm. I- ouaaaagh- I actually overdid it a bit, I haven’t had to fight quite like this in about two years. You fought well; I saw a bit of your battle with Mr. 2. Urgh. I’m gonna pass out for at least a day pretty soon- considering the migraine I have going, I won’t be up for anything heavy for at least a day after I wake up. I’m always really nauseated after a migraine, too. Mm. You’re really comfy to lean on, did you know?”

“Hmm. I- would you mind sparring with me? I need- I would never hit a woman, but-”

“We’re pirates. There will be women who will try to kill you. I’ll happily help beat some sense into you. Oaaaaaaaaugh. Mm, I’m about to pass out. Just roll me into a bed, I’ll wash later.”

“No, stay awake, you’re covered in blood and dirt and-” He sniffed me.

“Did you just sniff me?” I grin up at him. Salaciously.

“Yes, shut up, you smell like- why do you smell like berber spices? Seriously, they turned your skin yellow in places, Tailor, what the hell-”

“Probably because I had to bust into a butcher shop-”

“Tailor, no, you’re not going to sleep covered in yellow gunk and spices. That’s how you have crazy nightmares.”

“But Saaaaaanjiiiiii, I’m tiiiiiiiireeeeeeeed~”

“No.”

 

I crack open my eyes to give him a very unimpressed look. He raises an eyebrow back; his sweat has dried enough for his hair to flop back into his face. Then I grunt.

 

“Fine, but you’re helping me wash my back.” Shit shit shit shit why did I say that shit fuck. I’ve never blushed so hard in my life, fuck.

 

Sanji is laughing at me.

It’s a bit infectious. I start giggling, but like it’s the super embarrassed laugh, what with my burning face skin. I press my face into his shoulder, giggling helplessly.

Oh gosh I’m so glad we were able to help Vivi. I’m not crying out of sadness, I’m just- I’m just so relieved we were able to help Vivi.

This is the last clear memory I have of that day. There’s some disjointed stuff too- I clearly remember giggling while Sanji wiped my back down, Sanji hugging me with such gentleness, the sharp feeling of being ugly again when I had to take Falkor II off...

I also remember throwing up the soup Sanji was kind enough to bring me, and that’s never fun. Throwing up is not fun in general, but I could taste Sanji’s hand in the soup’s flavor. I was not happy to have to throw it back up but my migraine said “no” and my stomach responded. That was sad.


	8. Sunrise Revelation

 

The day captain wakes up is also the day I’m out of bed for longer than it takes to go to the bathroom. Yay. Oh gosh I feel so icky I pretty desperately need to bathe here. Oh wow. I wander the palace of Alubarna, eventually finding my way not to the bath house like I’d been hoping for, but a gallery of ancient queens. It’s a tomb? I ask because Fae tombs aren’t like this- ow!

I’ve taken the hat and bumbershoot set on a tour of the palace; Miss Djinni deserved such consideration, after how poorly her life and afterlife went for her.

It’s a gallery of goldstone women carved in Vivi’s likeness- or perhaps it’s more correct to say Vivi was carved in their likeness. Spears of light dance over sleek turquoise and marble tiles, shimmering emerald plates; a carpet of paradise. Vivi stands with their graceful pride, their features, the shape of their eyes and the sleek curves of their mouths. Their height, their curves, the careful arch of their necks, the sharp intelligence in every ancient gaze- all of them carved clear and true in Vivi.

My feet take me through steadily darkening lattices of women, their shimmering goldstone forms becoming inlaid with opal, pearls, diamond and malachite. A woman with shining cobalt-glass hair in neatly chinked swirls down her shoulders, leaded with silver oxidized black except where servants have shined the darkness away- mostly on her face. A reverie graces her neck, and another across her brow; from the days when the rulers of Alabasta were earthly manifestations of a heavenly paradise. Back when Fairisle wasn’t an isolationist nation, and the Sky was not something to be Dreamed of.

 

The  [ reveries ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/7f/3a/ce/7f3acebf78f0014e1cdfe29faac78133.jpg) are particularly lovely.

I lay the hat at Nefretari Verbena’s feet; Scheherazade was very clear about whom her dear friend was, and what she’d like done with the remains of her effects. 

I lied, you see. Scheherazade was no noblewoman in Verbena’s court; she was Verbena’s spy. As so often happens for these kinds of things, she went out into the desert, and met a blade in the darkness. Miss Sherry had information that would have been vital for Verbena’s hoped for survival, but when she met her demise on the moonlit sands, Verbena’s eventual death-by-treachery was unfortunately assured.

Miss Sherry begged me to place her hat at her lady’s feet- reunited in death as they never were in life. The fabric of her bumbershoot was made with the power of her grudge against the living; once her hat is placed where she wanted, it fades away into nothing but the faint smell of mint and olive oil, the quiet menace of scorpions. What little dust remains blows away with a wind like a sigh. Finally, Miss Sherry is at peace.

The canopy of the bumbershoot fades too, taking the original name of the blade with it. The presumed Nui Hari is no more.

 

(The blade itself is different- a true jian now, maybe 80 centimeters long; it’s hilt is wrapped in black rayskin and it weighs a good 200 grams. The pommel is of heavy brass, and tooled with bees and ferns. The tassel is brown, and quite long to my eye, and repeated on the sheathe are bees with honeycombs, ferns, and moss; the scabbards throat is brass, and the locket is bound with a fine rope of brown. It is a graceful blade, keen and quick to move; and old. Very, very old. I could dance with it quite well- but this isn’t really my blade. I’m not the right person for this sword.)

 

I kneel before the resting places of Princess Verbena and her beloved Miss Sherry; I thank them both for their kindness. I stand. I leave the Garden of Queens; my business there is quite finished.

  
  
  


Falkor II is clinging to my back once more, has been through my whole wandering. I can’t fly with her until I do some cleanup of her design, perhaps implement a method of energy renewal that utilizes sunlight. My battle- what, a few days ago? Felt longer- my battle proved that. I’ll start implementing the changes I want after I eat something.

She also needs a bath.

I, personally, need another prosthetic; something that will help me notice when I’m thinking or speaking- I was fine before with Crocus, but I never really had to  **think** with Crocus. It’s only going to get more dangerous as we journey further into the Grandline; I cannot be so loose lipped. Speech is just a complex series of vibrations that humans put meaning to, really; I need a microphone of some kind. Cockroaches and spiders are most sensitive to such things, and crickets should help with tuning into my frequencies specifically. I can make a set of bugs that will look like jewels or beads or some such, but will also have the sensitivity to notice when I’m speaking and when I’m not. A simple enough feedback loop will alert me to changes in what they’re sensing, and a quick bit of logic will allow me to recognize when I wish to speak and when I don’t.

My loose mouth could have gotten Vivi killed. My loose mouth hurt a man, and embarrassed others- fine. I can apologize easily enough. But Vivi- she could have been killed all because I couldn’t recognize when I was and wasn’t speaking.

Dammit- I still can’t remember what I wanted to talk to Ace about. It’ll come to me.

 

I can’t wear my kusarigama and the new sword at the same time without a baldric. I’m not yet sure if I want one of leather or one of my customary spidersilk. It will have to have a secondary belt that goes around my waist; otherwise I would have to place both of them on one side, which would make my flight skills awful and a bit erratic. Then again, considering I’m really only holding the sword for another, perhaps I’ll merely make tassels for the inevitable change in ownership.

 

I continue to wander through the palace, Nuibari- what I’ll call the jian, lacking other names- cradled in my arms. The Palace of Alubarna is quite lovely. Eventually, a servant finds me and directs me to the dining hall where our crew entire is going to be entertained for dinner. It would seem that dinner is coming before a bath for me- hopefully I don’t stink too terribly.

Zoro eyes my sword and me speculatively when I set it in it’s own seat next to me at the table. His eyebrows only rise when I carefully pour it a cup of mint tea in a beautiful porcelain cup. One lump of sugar and let the steam rise.

The reborn spirit of the sword indicates to me- and Zoro, who as a swordsman has specific insight into such things- an enjoyment of the tea. I glance at Zoro, who inclines his head. I nod back solemnly, and then I examine the spread on the table. I haven’t eaten for two days, and the hunger will not be denied.

 

Okay so even though as a royal of the Morgan house I was raised on a vegan diet for the first thirteen years of my life, when I went with Alberich, I had to get used to eating all kinds of meat. With that said, under extreme circumstances, I will revert to my initial tastes. 

Which means the platter of lovely mushroom rolls, with their buttery pastry stamped with little sunshine spirals, doesn’t stand a chance. They have a lovely earth-savory taste, with little surprises of citrus and salt. 

The roasted nut loaf meets the same fate, drowned under a small lake of vegetable gravy. 

A platter of oysters and shrimp with fingerlime gets devoured next, a steadily rising tower of cleaned oyster shells the only evidence that they ever existed. I know it’s poor manners to eat the cabbage leaf that is used for presentation, but goddammit I’m still hungry. 

I eat an entire side of tuna crusted with almonds and glazed with some kind of sauce but feel no relief. 

The salad that no one is eating is devoured by me. It’s got walnuts, pumpkin seeds, flax, tasty yeast, cashews, balsamic vinaigrette with olive oil, mozzarella, and a mixture of spring and summer veggies, including last year's cactus fruit and straight up cactus leaves.

Seven fully roasted heads of cauliflower- lightly salted and peppered, of course- and a small mountain of mashed potatoes. 

A full bushel each of apples and pears and oranges and tomatoes and plums and I make inroads on pomegranates before the other half of the tuna catches my eye. Down the hatch it goes. 

 

I take a moment to enjoy a cup of hot mint tea, refresh my sword’s cup- it’d gone lukewarm in the frenzy- and let my stomach decide if we’re still doing this. A small tiger roars.

We’re still doing this.

 

TOFU! Tofu in savory vegetable gravy, tofu sliced and fried with egg and rice, tofu with fresh vegetables, tofu steamed with sweet ginger syrup, a giant bowl of rice with soy sauce, jellied eels, an entire pitcher of hibiscus tea. My mouth is stained red.

I devour the entirety of no less than fifteen coconut crabs, a platter of sardines, another soup-pot of jellied eels, and five more fully roasted heads of cauliflower. Steamed tomatoes and okra, fried onion blossoms. Mmm. 

Flatbread with arugula, walnut mash and the sneeze of the fennel flower. Herbed cheese and crackers! Boiled parsnips with apples and roses! A giant bowl of flan!

 

Usopp! I really like terrifyingly hot sauces, gimme gimme gimme!

“Here you go Tailor.”

“Yaaaaaaaaaas!”

 

The heirloom tomato, cheese, and watermelon salad with jamaica dressing was delicious, but with a slathering of terribly spicy sauce, it should be even better! I might be on a sugar rush! Woooo! Oh wow we’re doing the nose chopstick thing- psyche, they can do the nose chopsticks but I am not shoving chopsticks up my nose. Nope nope nope. Hey hey hey it’s super cute that Vivi’s friend has a wife that looks just like him I saw that tan line and she’s super cute and this food is delicious and I’m so glad we’re here Vivi Vivi Vivi you look just like your female ancestors it’s amazing and I might be talking too loudly oh hey your tea is getting cold there let me just refresh that woooooooo-

  
  


I was indeed on a sugar rush.

I might have eaten a little too much. Luffy is still going. I replace my sword’s tea again, add a few tea cakes. The reborn blade exudes an aura of pleased benevolent viciousness. I think we’re going to get along just fine. I take a moment to rest, and look on my crewmates fondly. Goodness, Sanji seems…

 

“Need something, Sanji?”

“I hadn’t realized that you’re a preferred pescatarian, Tailor-kun. My apologies; I’ll find more recipes you can enjoy.”

“Oh.” I blush. “T-thank you, Sanji.”

  
  
  


Oh thank god we’re going to the bathhouse. I’ve never scrubbed so hard in my life. There’s even a selection of tiny scrub brushes at my request for Falkor II. Vivi and I help each other wash our hair, which is always a bit of a hassle when it’s so long- I haven’t really cut it in two years. Maybe I’ll get it trimmed before we leave?

Anyway.

There are some long pins Vivi pulls out of a small closet in the bathing room; she helps me pin my hair up into a  [ towering confection ](https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/otXhvWaCKzGJaz-C5KYR92bJIhYZ3RdoivCzs84ApxLimL5CwxexJRZ5_2mzZil_vo2m3gdbkJAIIM4KqOjCfmIuClHEQJydsOLCvr5nawrxCVP28NslxyFdS8yVpKKrEcPy207U) . It honestly reminds me of one of those old satirical cartoons. Mmmph. While I don’t mind emulating an old women’s rights deuter-iconoclastic image, I’m not sure I like the implication of male-informed female sexual dominance. Gibson Girls were a bit… Problematic… Still. That hair and those faces are just- lovely.

 

No towels allowed in the hot soaking baths, it’s not sanitary. There’s a wall that separates the men’s side from the women’s side; it has a transom opening where a lattice should be but isn’t. The bathhouse is of Royal grade; finely pieced tiles and delicate carvings, made of precious and semi-precious materials. This island is one of the inspirations for art deco as a whole; the bold uses of color, the sharp geometric lines. Mm. Oh it’s the guys.

 

“Hey guys. Like what you see?”

“Tailor!”

“What, Vivi? The guys go to all the trouble of taking a peek, I want to know if they like the view! In fact, I think I’m gonna take a looksie myself in a bit...”

“Oh my gods and goddesses...”

“What, you thought the Fae association with Hathor wasn’t merited? Or maybe just exaggerated?”

“Frankly, yes!”

 

I give Vivi a bit of a Look. She looked back at me sheepishly. Nami gave the guys a 100,000 beri Happiness Punch. After the thumps and splashes died down a bit, I glided over to the wall-side of the bath and climbed up onto the ledge. Then I leaped up to where I could see into the men's bath. I swear to the Lord Chronos, I didn’t mean to say this out loud. But I did.

 

So, in order of cuteness, Usopp wins with Luffy coming in a close second- Chopper gains points for being aesthetically delightful, but Usopp is actually smooch worthy. All three, however, are entirely too boyish for my consideration.

“Is- Tailor, are you spying on the guys?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes. Did you want to as well, Nami? Vivi?”

“N-no, I’m fine.”

“Alright Vivi. Nami?”

“Um. Actually- Yeah, give me a sec.”

“Take your time, the floor can be a little slippery.”

“Hup!- so, what are we looking at here?”

“Well, the kiddie trio is adorable, but…

I’m not entirely sure  [ Luffy ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/26/ff/08/26ff08a34156892416714cadfeb909c9.jpg) actually has a libido worth exciting. That does not mean he’d be unavailable for the more romantic pursuits, or that, in the fullness of time, he wouldn’t do more sexualized things with a partner. He’s cute, and probably good for hugging and cuddling, but good luck getting him to hold still long enough; as for the kissing and such, well. He might do it if you asked? Not sure. Also my Captain, so I’m not willing to go there.

[ Usopp ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/5e/00/0c/5e000c68780224021880c9554558933f.jpg) \- I think has a lady back home? He’s quite handsome, and smart enough to become great fun in the bedroom, but I don’t really think he’s open to any sort of erotic-romantic shenanigans right now. Or rather- he’s a bit too open, for my tastes. I have no time to teach boys how to play, you understand?

[ Chopper ](http://img10.deviantart.net/4396/i/2015/277/d/0/deer_boy_by_aenea_jones-d8ex8wk.jpg) , of course, approaches the various types of love and romance from a distinctly non-humanoid perspective; I’d hesitate in initiating any sort of erotic-romantic overtures. Also fun to hug and cuddle, with the added bonus of being much more likely to go for a long snuggle session. Entirely too skittish for my tastes, however.”

“...wow, okay. You take this **_very_ ** seriously. What about Zoro or Sanji?”

“Sex and Romance are Serious Business, Nami. Hmm. As for our two unexamined monsters on the crew, well... Neither of them are really in a position, in life I mean, to really put their all into any kind of romantic relationship. Zoro more than Sanji I’d say.”

“...Fair. What about their bedroom skills? And overall aesthetics?”

“Hmm. Well,  [ Zoro ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/47/be/7a/47be7aba0d5e1ac7cc739a58c0cc87ed.jpg?noindex=1) has an overall heavily muscled yet lean aesthetic, and is very traditionally manly besides. The swords, you know? Mm, as far as bedroom skills go, his partner would probably have to explain a few things to him but he’d pick up on the physical aspects of it without much trouble. The more flexible arrangements might be entirely outside his repertoire, but anything requiring pure strength and control he’d nail for sure. As I said before, I’m not terribly interested in teaching the art of conjugation at this time, but…”

“Sure, sure. Wait- Nail?”

“Did I fucking stutter, Nami?”

“Alright, alright, just making sure.” She gives me a side eye. “What about Sanji?”

“Ah. I will admit to having a bit of a bias- blondes  **_are_ ** a favorite of mine.”

“ **Really?** So, Sanji’s your favorite aesthetically? -Did I use that word right?”

“Ah, yes, and yes you did. Good job Nami! Hmm. Sanji’s a little more likely to enter into an erotic-romantic relationship of some kind simply because his dream doesn’t require the same kind of focus as another's might- if he can stay alive long enough and keep moving forwards on the Grand Line, he’ll find what he’s looking for eventually. It’s similar to your dream and mine in that regard- yours can be completed with a bit of time and travel, same as mine. It’s not like any of us can’t have more than one Dream, either...”

“Right, the World’s Greatest Sewing Professional, I’d almost forgotten. Well, I mean- you already make the best clothing I’ve ever worn, I’m not sure how you can take it further. -You have more than one?”

“Mm. There’s always something new to learn. And- yeah, of course. Not as exciting as becoming Best in the World at something though, that’s the vow of a lifetime.”

“Ah. True. So, I guess of our guys, you’re most interested in bedroom fun with Sanji? -not as exciting?”

“I mean. I guess? Mostly I’m interested in being friends- I’ve found that sex is always better with a friend. Also, have you seen the size of him? Good lord, no wonder he’s always passing out, the sheer blood-flow his thing must require; I’m not entirely sure it would fit-”

“Tailor, oh my god-” and Nami is cackling with laughter now. 

 

I don’t know why, I’m being very honest here- Sanji’s a good six centimeters larger than the average, any bigger and he’s all but assured of a knockout every time he rises to the occasion. And she’s on the ground folks, Nami is laughing on the ground. Well. I’m glad she’s having a good time?

Oh shit- paaaaahg! Sanji totally nailed my head with a wet towel, sending me back about a meter into the air and directly into the hot bathwater below. That was a really good throw.

 

“Good throw Sanji!”

“TAILOR-KUN I’M GONNA KICK YOUR ASS!”

“So long as we’re sparring, I won’t take offence! Also, you’re very handsome, clothes or no!”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!”

 

I’m a little concerned for Zoro. If he laughs much harder, he might actually asphyxiate and die. Nami hasn’t gotten back up, and is clutching her ribs and wheezing, tears running down her cooked lobster red face.

I seem to bring a great deal of amusement to my crewmates. Friends? Nami is nodding at me. Am I still talking aloud?

 

“Ye-he-he-hes, oh wow, yes, Tailor- we’re definitely friends.”

“Ah. Good. I had wondered.”

 

Definitely working out the logistics of my next prosthetic device as soon as we get back to the ship. There are some things I’d like to think about, have a mull-session on, before I talk to my friends about it.

 

The palace has a hairdresser and salon, and it’s a simple matter to have them cut my hair from knee length to shoulder length. My hair grows fast and thick; it curls quite a lot now, but it’s nothing a hair tie and some pins can’t fix. I don’t really want it shorter, I don’t think… 

 

Nami got the newspaper; Luffy, Zoro, and I got updates on our bounties. They’re calling me Portgas D. Mab Tailor, “The Queen of Maggots”, now. I guess someone did some research; it’s not like my name’s a great secret. Even when I forgot it, to anyone with the right education, it would have been obvious who I was. Am.

However, this is a confirmation that I am, in fact, exiled. Legally exiled, I mean. Princesses are not wanted dead or alive; they’re wanted either dead or alive. No ambiguities. In other news, they managed to get my wings in frame, but not all that much of my face. I’m… conflicted. On the first wing, that’s definitely the way I look when I’m flighting. On the next wing, it’s a bit of a pain to not be identified clearly in a poster meant to showcase my notoriety. On the other wing, they got my glasses clearly too, and that’s a very important medical device which I intend to never be without. Very identifying. On the last wing, I’m a fucking pirate, and this poster is not terribly clear. The picture is cool looking, no doubt, but not terribly clear. Oh, and apparently I’m worth 40,000,000 beri- even- to my younger sister and the World Government, dead or alive. 

Nami is afraid; she also seems to be looking at me with a bit more than the usual friendliness. I’m not afraid of no bitch-ass World Government; I am a bit nervous to explain the intricacies of being exiled. Exiled princesses are basically burned secret agents. Which means no money.

 

We leave that very evening, our left arms thrust into the air as a reminder of our friendship. Oh yes and apparently an okama helped us a lot. I hid in my sewing room so I wouldn’t have to look at or say anything about his terrible, terrible fashion sense. It would have been ruder not to, frankly.

Terrible fashion sense.

  
THAT’S WHAT I WAS GONNA TALK TO ACE ABOUT FUCK FUCK FUCK-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IRONY IS THE GIFT THAT KEEPS ON GIVING. LIKE AN STD OR TAXES.


	9. Scum and Villany

Although it is important, I suppose, that Miss All Sunday is now our crewmember, Nico Robin- I was a bit too concerned with other things to really notice her reaction to me until much later on in our acquaintance. I mean, I noticed that she seemed- oddly concerned about being alone with me, during those few moments we were near each other. I noticed how frightened she was, underneath the bravado.

A quick almost invisible flinch, followed by a certain coolness. The others didn’t really notice, but then again, I’m top ranked in flight maneuvers for a reason. If I had been facing Aradia, she would have missed- not because she wouldn’t have shot me in the face, but because I would have dodged. All I had to do to stop her was turn around and face her. But I didn’t, and I don’t remember why. 

I think- I’m not sure, of course. But- in the steady piecework of my memories, the little pieces that fold and unfold behind my eyes, bits and bobbles that flicker together and apart, like sparkle shines on the seafoam surface of my- Aradia. Titania and I were identical twins. Aradia was not like us. Aradia is not a fairy. Aradia Morgan is a Changeling.

There’s a reason I rely so heavily on Blink when I fight. There’s a reason Aradia hated my sister and I- my brother and I- ow. I don’t yet remember what it is- but I do know my old style won’t be enough to defeat Aradia. I’m not so foolish as to assume that we won’t come into conflict once again. After all, I need to be able to see where I’m going to Blink there. Aradia doesn’t need to see her target to shoot it. Aradia’s main weapons aren’t guns, they’re- ow ow ow ow ow.

  
  


Sanji does not kick like a mule. Mules don’t kick as hard as Sanji does.

I’m having to use Drift and Steel Shell a lot more than I usually do, and I’ve dropped the use of Blink entirely because he’s just not fast enough to keep up with it. As we’re sparring, it behooves me to use techniques that aren’t my best- because that’s what training is for, you see. Blinking didn’t save me from Aradia, after all.

Speaking of-

 

“SANJI IF YOU DON’T TAKE THE OPENINGS I GIVE YOU, I WILL SHIN KICK YOU OFF THIS SHIP AGAIN, DON’T THINK FOR A SECOND I WON’T-”

“SHUT UP TAILOR-KUN THIS IS NOT EASY FOR ME YOU ARE VERY FAST-”

“FIGHT SERIOUSLY OR LAY DOWN AND DIE!”

“RAAAGH!”

 

There’s been some growing pains. I think Zoro considers Sanji’s and my sparring sessions to be some of the finest free entertainment he’s ever gotten to enjoy. The man has had a bottle of booze and a front row seat for the past two days we’ve been seriously sparring.

Oddly, Sanji didn’t really take sparring with me seriously until I made him skip like a stone across the living ocean with one, relatively restrained, shin-flick. I guess maybe he’s never really fought a woman who’s fully willing and able to beat him into the ground but not also kill him in the process? Maybe that chivalry of his went too far for too long…

 

 

Oh yes, and I talked to Zoro.

According to him, I’m not axe crazy, or anything. It’s most likely I’m some kind of blood knight-

 

“-because you’re really there for the joy of the fight, not necessarily the killing, right?”

“I mean- if I kill someone, I feel kinda gross about it, but I don’t really dwell on it? But really, I’m fighting to fight, not to- yeah.”

“Well, you were trained for serious fighting, right? I mean, that’s what all the Fairytales I remember said, all the children of the Court were trained heavily...”

“Oh, yeah; that’s true enough. I was trained to use the staff, spear, sword and broadsword.”

“Really?”

“Yep. Kusarigama and martial arts training are something I picked for myself, much like Sanji picked a kick heavy martial art to use-”

“What, you sayin’ Dartboard-brow has trainin’ in weapons?”

“Well, yeah.” 

 

Zoro looked at me funny. 

 

“He’s a cook, Zoro. During his training, he was taught to use very good, very sharp knives to systematically take apart every kind of beast that lives with it’s back towards heaven. And in his kitchen, Sanji has a weapon at his hand at any time.”

“Hm?”

“Yeah- haven’t you noticed how much nastier Sanji is when he’s fighting in the dining room? If you tried to fight him in the actual kitchen proper, he’d do permanent damage, not sparring. Cooks and chefs consider their kitchens to be absolutely sacrosanct; it’d be like picking a fight in a graveyard, but with way more deadly implements at hand.”

“Hm. ...is that why you’re always asking him if there’s a kind of bug he wants you to grow for him?”

“In all honesty, I keep them more than anything else, and yes; he’s a cook. More importantly, he’s  **_our_ ** cook. ...One of the reasons I was so angry when Nami and Usopp stole food from the kitchen wasn’t really for the theft. It was because they didn’t trust Sanji. I mean- if you ever tell him you’re hungry and you mean it, he might cuss at you a little but he’ll feed you. And the food is always good? So I just- I don’t know, that just really pissed me off. Also, Luffy immediately apologised? So I guess that was some of it too...”

 

Zoro fell asleep. I kept talking. When I realized he had fallen asleep, I got a lace-crochet blanket from the women’s dorm- there’s a trunk Nami put by the couch and it’s full of blankets that I made. (I miss Vivi. She was nice.) Zoro gets a green and black lace crochet tossed over him. I have not stopped blabbering. I think maybe Zoro and Sanji are going to actually become good friends now. Or at the very least, respected comrades.

 

I really need to make that prosthetic for my brain to mouth filter. It’s not that I never had a brain to internal mouth filter- I did, if I hadn’t I’d have died, I just cannot seem to hear the difference between my narration and me actually narrating things anymore. Unfortunately, crickets and spiders are not enough to make a prosthetic to the standards I want in any of the gear I make for myself. I’m in absolutely dangerous and lethal situations often enough that the relative strength of the sea cricket and the spider, even combined, would simply not be robust enough to withstand the crazy ass shit we keep getting into.

I need cockroaches. Those shiny brown water bugs are fucking resilient as shit. Their hearing is even better than spider hearing; I just. I use them as fodder and I haven’t really had time to get more? I’ve been using krill. There’s always krill.

 

There are odd molluscs in the seabed. Hmm. 

OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD. 

A ship just fell from the sky. What the fuck.

Oh. Oh no. There’s- bones. Corpse.

 

I- shroud, I have a shroud- no, I have a silk sheet that can be used as a shroud. It’s not mixed fiber- can’t use mixed fiber, it’s against the- just plain white silk and very finely woven. Robin is an archaeologist but that corpse needs a shroud. Oh no.

I dart past Robin and the others, go into my sewing room; on the shelf, not the one where Merry’s things are, below that. There’s a few bolts of fabric that I’d hemmed just in case- I’ve got shrouds ready for some of the weakest of Sanji’s knives, Usopp’s slingshot, Luffy’s Hat, Zoro’s Swords, Nami’s Tangerine trees, my Sewing Machine, Robin’s books in the library shelves- and just regular shrouds. Just in case.

I don’t like being unprepared for anything.

 

When I come back out with a clean white silk sheet, a blank notebook I was going to use for a sketchbook, and a pencil, no one seems to take much notice of me. I unfold it with an absolute solemnity next to the bones- Robin’s eyes widen. Then she smiles, but- thinly? And nods, once, as if to herself. As she examines each bone, she places them delicately on the shroud. I pull from my pockets some weights; links of chain and such I found in corners and bent nails just lying around. They go in amongst the bones; they will not float.

I make note of everything she has to say, do careful sketches of each bone as it appears on the clean white cloth. This was a man, once, but now it’s only bones. He had to be trepanned? Interesting.

His clothes are rags and dust now, but they were fine before. A linen poet’s shirt and a pair of leather trousers worn to rags with age; scuffed black riding boots with bright gold spurs.

This is actually a carpenter’s pencil, so it doesn’t roll around when I put it on the ground, or when I shove it through the loops that keep the whole  [ book ](https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/NV3CE9x-97IWZX5_PBMwD4hqXhsKLRU6YLfdIDudwRMV9oh_wKiBo2lUeu4D8ggMVq7IiEZnl91JY7WRpoDFRBO5QCZZtczU0y2V5KALvlCZKcfj_E_D_Q4yo6aZBx-P7OjBYVdR) closed.

I hand the purple book to Robin, who takes it with a more genuine smile. Then she helps me fold the cloth over the remains. Today I am wearing pegged cargo pants tucked into my boots; a slightly heavier weight blue-black halterneck vest over a brown leather tube top tied with a row of laces down the side. Not quite a bustier; I’d need to measure my bust extensively to make one of those, and I’m already annoyed enough that I have a sizable bust at all. The proper fairy silhouette is traditionally a flat or flattened chest- perhaps with an added keel-like structure in the center of the chest in the more military ensembles- with fairly wide waist and hips. The proportions of the lower body can be compared favorably to a pear; the waist to shoulders ought to be more closely formed like a barrel or cask. I’m too thin. I lost more muscle than I thought.

I’m… If I have access to enough food and train diligently, I can regain my form; my breasts will never quite be what they were before. Having a baby changes your entire body chemistry; my hair used to be bone straight, and fell in a distinctly different way. Now it’s almost violently wavy; similarly, because I was not able to nurse, the milk my body made metabolized into fat. It will be almost impossible, what with lacking my wings, to completely restore my body’s form to what it was. I am… ugly. Weak, and ugly. My legs are heavy with fat; my breasts are neither small or large enough. And I don’t have wings anymore- the rest of it doesn’t matter, of course, but the wings- I-

 

Anyway. There’s a ball of twine in one of my pockets; I use it to quickly lash the shroud closed around the bones of the unnamed man. Together, we lift the man up and carry him to the rail. I leave him in Robin’s arms and sing the only prayer for the dead I know- which isn’t for the dead at all, it’s for us.

I certainly feel better after praying. Robin nods once, solemnly, and then lets the body fall into the sea. Our crewmates were very silent while we laid him to rest; I clasp my hands together behind me and gaze out at the sea in a moment of contemplation. Then I shake it off because there was also a ship and it’s sinking as I speak. There could be anything on that damn thing, including excellent treasure.

In fact, there are bugs on that ship I’ve never seen before I MUST HAVE THEM ALL. Let me see- it’s worth the headache this will cause to expedite the air-return system. It’s three distinct pieces of one whole; a smooth shell that fits cleanly with my redesigned goggle-overts and my water pack, a sleek mucosal membrane to facilitate gaseous exchange right next to my nose and mouth, and all the little fiddly gills and lung-bits that will allow the storage and recycling of oxygen and nitrogen in the correct mixture. It’s worth noting that this particular piece of gear works best when I have a skinsuit that covers my abdomen, particularly my chest and stomach; maintaining proper pressurization is key.

I’ve tested the gas-shell repeatedly with a small tub and an aerator Usopp helped me rig on deck when I wasn’t training with Sanji; and when I wasn’t testing that, I was working on the design of Falkor II. The gas-shell definitely works, but getting it to cling unobtrusively to my head eventually necessitated a series of straps and buckles, and a very loose hairstyle. I haven’t quite managed to make it so that I can put it on without snagging my hair. I definitely need a haircut. I’m also getting some very distinctive gimp vibes from my gas-shell, which is not ideal. I’m glad this isn’t the final design, there’s still time to work out a better solution.

 

Today’s outfit- after I realized the potential bounty on the ship- became my long sleeve swimsuit and nothing else; the overts and gas-shell go on with a minimum of fuss. Of all the decapods, the portunidae family has one of the most interesting adaptations. 

They can swim. 

 

Interestingly, Crabby had the specific strain of blueprints I needed. Falkor II became III, IV, V- eventually, I just started calling it Falkor. There’s only so many times you can rename functionally the same dragonfly-esque creature before you throw up your hands and accept the Ship of Theseus. (This is surely the one and only ship of Theseus.) More importantly, I finally managed to add a quartet of highly maneuverable leg-paddles to the main opisthosoma. 

Falkor leaps onto my back and clings. I’ve been practicing making that connection too- now there’s only a brief jolt of agony that only makes me clench my jaw, rather than the near convulsions of that first time. I don’t think it will ever actually stop hurting- and it’s not actually painful, per say. It’s really more like the sudden return of sensation in that part of my body is so overwhelming, my brain can only interpret it as pain for a moment. Once it registers as ‘not pain’ again, I can move forward without problems. 

I’ve also been remembering the real words for things- an opisthosoma, for example, is on an arachnid what a thorax is on an insect. However, because arachnids and insects are entirely different creatures, they have different names for similar structures.

Crabby comes scuttling out from my sewing room, carrying a fine woven net in one claw and a signal crab in the other. She’s such a good girl. I take the net, press the crab to my chest- it’s Brown, I made more of them- take a breath, and dive into the thrashing sea. Back on deck, Crabby sets Shelly on her plate and carries her out; I radio back my findings.

 

“She’s called the St. Bris. Looks to be a fluyt- three masts, three decks, I’d say.”

“What about treasure?”

“Well, I can definitely feel distinctive bugs that just aren’t optimized for the troposphere; there’s some kind of mollusc too, I’ve never felt anything like it that I can remember. -Nami? Are you still there?”

“-I’m still here, I just forgot that you’re very into bugs.”

“Um.”

“I’m sending the guys down with you- does Crabby have the other crabs?”

“Um- yeah, she could get them. Take Shelly from her?”

“Sure. Uh- is there a reason Shelly is wearing a straw hat? With- a blue ribbon?”

“Oh, yeah; Shelly wanted a hat like Captain’s, and straw hats are where hatmaking starts. The ribbon was actually my choice; Shelly is Best Snail.”

“That’s… kind of adorable, actually. Crabby’s really quick, huh?”

“Yeah, she’s actually much faster now. I’m very proud of her.”

“Heh.”

 

Captain, Zoro, and Sanji follow me down in some Usopp specials- I’ve worked with him enough to recognize his style when it shows up. He’s brilliant, but his work is… aesthetically eclectic.

 

Okay, so I heard echoes, not actual creatures- but what are these? They’re not shells, they’re not snails, they’re no kind of clam I’ve ever seen- I’m tempted to call them some kind of crustacean, but that’s not quite right either. Mollusc like, but not quite molluscs. Ναυτίλος, maybe? But they’re too light for that. I just don’t know. I fill my net bag with them, and swim back up to the ship.

I pass by a group of odd looking guys, and turn around to go back to the ship. Captain waves me away. I guess he doesn’t want help with these guys? Which I guess is okay.

I smack chest-first onto the deck and my hair immediately tangles into Falkor’s jagged edges. I need a haircut again, shorter than before. Nape of neck length?

 

“Nami! Please help me cut my hair! It’s not practical!”

“No, your hair is lovely and I’m not cutting it!”

“Fine! Robin! Crabby has a pair of scissors you can use- please help me cut my hair, if it isn’t an imposition!”

“Hmm? Oh, certainly, Miss Tailor.”

 

Robin cuts my hair very neat and even; it puffs up into a rather comical sheepish floof about as soon as it dries out. It’s not that she cut it so short that’s all it could do- rather that without the full weight of my hair holding it down, the curl gets a bit excited. Crabby brings me one of my narrower headbands, and I tame my hair down to something approaching neatness; I’ll need time with a conditioner and a comb to get it really neat and soft though. Maybe a bristle brush?

Oh.

 

“Robin, are you alright?”

“H-hmm? Oh, yes. Quite fine, Miss Seamstress.”

“I- Alright. Let me know if there’s anything, alright? Even if it’s something very small.”

 

I spend the next few hours getting used to my slightly altered center of balance and picking long hanks of hair out of Falkor’s joints. I keep about half of it, but the rest I toss over the side of the ship into the sea. I’m- I’m sure it’s nothing. But the remembrance of Aradia being a changeling- okay. 

There are only so many ways to actually make more fairies; there’s the usual way, which involves the usual couple’s dance- and there’s the other way. It comes to pass, sometimes, that a group of beings would wish wholeheartedly for a child, or that one might come across a being deserving of continuance. And so an egg is made.

I’ve got a shelf in my sewing room all picked out for it already.

 

We’re being very hard on Merry. I’m a sewing professional, the only thing I can do as such, for her, I did- her sails, her rigging, her sundries and sleeping places. All of them, I made as best I could. I am also a Fairy, and so there are more options open for me than simply- sewing. I will make my prosthetic first- and then I will make for Merry a rainy day fund. A little something to help her by, if (when) the time comes.

I don’t know what else to do. 

I’m a fairy- but my focus was becoming a Queen for my people, sewing, dancing, and poetry. Certainly, I have the instructions for very nearly every magic of our people- but… No. No, it’ll be fine. I don’t know what else to do.

 

I elf-knot the old ends of my hair together and hang it in the sewing room over a bucket; Sanji gives me a jar with a lid when I ask. I save the drippings from the sea, seal it with wax and put it on the shelf. I’m not entirely sure where I’m going to get enough rum without the crew drinking it. Hmm. I hang the not-shells on a hook in the sewing room, and return to the deck rails. I gaze out at the shimmering ocean, contemplating options.

Gnnnnmmgh!

 

“HELLoooooo Sanji!”

“UM. Sorry, forgot about your- wings- but your hair! It’s so-”

“Short, right? I’ve been meaning to cut it-”

“I was going to say cute but sure, short works-”

“Oh. Well, thank you… Um. OH!- we’ve been kinda hard on Merry, haven’t we? I’m getting kinda worried about her...”

“Oh. Well, it’s not too terrible, is it?”

“Well- I suppose, but still- I don’t like leaving things to chance.”

“No, I’d have never guessed.”

“Hah. So um- if you don’t mind, could I have a bit of hair? Also, could you start saving eggshells for me? I’ll take the hair from the back where no one will notice, but- and you can keep the shells in my sewing room, um- I’ll buy the saffron myself...”

“Uh. Yeah, sure. Saffron and hair...You’re not going to put a love spell or anything on me, right?”

“Um. No. Those don’t work? So. I don’t do things that don’t work?”

“...haha. Alright, yeah. Now, or-?”

“Now’s good.”

 

Sanji has freckles on the back of his neck. His skin is soft and warm and he smells of sandalwood soap and musk and cigarette smoke and seafood. I like it. His hair is very slippery, but my scissors go through with a minimum of fuss. There’s a chunk about the size of a ten beri coin missing on the back of his head now (but it’s covered by the rest of his hair, not to worry), and I need hair from every member of the crew. 

I’ll ask Usopp next I think.

 

Oh gosh those are some really lethal bugs. Wow.

I was so into the bugs I completely missed the giant monster shadow that scared everyone. I’m kinda disappointed.

Nami is not amused. Robin stole an eternal pose from those salvagers, which seems reasonable- though. So now we’re going to Jaya.

It’s amazing what I can tune out.

  
  
  


Jaya’s big port is Mocktown. I mean. It’s definitely a town. For pirates. Looks like… fun? It’d be a real shame if someone were to take a match to that hive of scum and villainy. Thankfully, I find a robust swarm of cockroaches that are quickly decimated by my various swarms- the best specimens get kept out. I also have some money left over from Alabasta, so I think I’ll just get some molasses. Like. A lot of fucking molasses.

Possibly a tuna and some saffron if time permits?

I’ll take Scarf either way, she’s been feeling a bit neglected.

 

“I’m going to get a few things. I’ll be back later. Don’t worry Usopp- the hives will eat anyone who tries to get on the ship that isn’t a member of the crew. Oh yes, and before I forget- I need some of your hair.”

“You mean fight, right? And- why exactly do you need my hair?”

“No, I said what I meant. I usually do. Do you know how old Going Merry is, I’m making a gift for her...”

“Sure? Um, are you just going to trim the ends, or- and as far as I know, she’s about ten years old.”

“No, I need a whole chunk- I’ll take it from the back if that’s okay? And that’s perfect.”

“Er. Okay…?”

 

I pull a chunk of Usopp’s wavy black hair out from under his bandanna. It’s coarser than mine, like fine wire, with a distinctively springy texture and a brilliant sheen. He takes good care of his hair, I’m impressed. Could comb it better, but we can’t all be good at everything. The scissors snip close to his skin, leaving a ten beri coin sized patch behind. I tug his bandanna down over the missing patch. A spider that was hanging out with me crawls down from my hair’s lower fluff and spins the new ends of Usopp’s hair into a silken stopper. Chopper wandered over during the clipping, he seemed a bit curious.

We set to talking while I was clipping Usopp’s hair.

 

“You know anything about fairies, young buck?”

“Um- well. Not really?”

“Mhm. Well. Before I go shopping, I might as well tell you two some real fairy lore. Told by an actual Fairy from the Green Lands, no less. Sound good?”

“Yeah!” “...Sure, Tailor.”

“Hmm. So. There are many fairies who call this world home, and of them perhaps the most enamored with the sea are those that reside in the ships that sailors abide in. Men have called these beings Klabautermann- and though they are of the fairy kind, they are not true fairies. A true fairy is a living being; Klabautermann are not of a kind with selkies, sirens, or mermaids, merely kin.

However, of the many sea spirits, it is said that the most beloved of them all by sailors are the Klabautermann. When loved to the point of devotion, they can in fact materialize in the waking world- this being the plane on which you, and I, and anyone else, lives. Doing this is tantamount to suicide, as the nascent spirit of the ship-fairy is too weak to appear without a body. Of course, the fact that ship-fairies often appear when their bodies- which are their very ships- are starting to become dishonorable; well.

All is not lost, however. It may very well be that a ship-fairy is consigning itself to death with its former body when it appears to it’s crew; but if a new body can be provided, the fairy will live on- not as a ship, of course, but as a living being, that can grow and change without intercession from a shipwright.” 

 

Luffy is sitting with Chopper and Usopp. I don’t know if I have scissors that can actually cut his hair.

 

“Neh, Tailor- how would that work, exactly?”

“Hm. Well, Captain, a living fairy would need to make an egg- nothing complicated, merely a hank of her hair and hair from the ship’s crew, a bit of this and that, some gold, some booze, a fish- and a song. So long as the ship-fairy agreed to it, the living fairy could place it’s spirit into the new body.”

“And that’s it?”

“Well, there would be some growing pains- and of course, the ship-fairy would never quite be what it was before. However, once done, it can’t be undone.”

“...does Merry need a new body?”

“Hmm. Not quite yet- but if we could find a shipwright soon, that would be very good. Also, can I cut some of your hair?”

“Eh? Oh, sure!”

“Me too Tailor!”

“Mm- Chopper should go to Heavy Point, I think.”

 

Usopp’s lock is joined by Luffy-captain’s rubbery strands, and Chopper’s fluffy bristles. Chopper’s hair is interesting, because it has two distinct layers, a short downy layer and a long coarse layer, smooth to the touch. Chopper’s hair gets stuffed into a spider’s egg-pouch and strung on a fishing line of web. Luffy’s hair I tie into a twisted elfknot, and all three join my and Sanji’s hair in their box in my sewing room. It’s only Nami, Zoro, and Robin left now. I also need to talk to Going Merry.

Best leave Merry for later.

Zoro, Nami, and Captain go off into town for more information. The guys found a treasure map while they were down there, in the ship that fell from the sky. Oh yes, apparently Robin is an archaeologist? Hmhm.

 

“Robin, would you mind terribly if I accompanied you for a while today? I’m feeling the urge to reminisce about my Dana and I think you might be interested...”

“Oh?”

“Well, you see, my dana- who is, as far as I know, still alive- was a pirate before, during, and after the Void century. She guards the ancient weapon SATURNUS in the Green Land. I could tell you about her, if you’d like.”

Robin stares at me, then smiles. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen her smile all the way through to her eyes. She’s quite lovely when she smiles.

“I’d be delighted to, Tailor-kun.”

“Oh good. Hmm, well, the first thing you should know is that when she was pirating, Madame Elphame went by the name of Jenny Greenteeth...”

  
  


Robin’s hair is, in thickness, somewhat like mine. It’s fairly coarse, with a pin straight texture and an oily purple sheen that shimmers in the light. In fact, our hair is nearly the same- mine was just like hers before. I’m very careful to braid her lock into a fine coil about my wrist, as I don’t have any spiders present, and Crabby is not terribly good at handling fine objects. I could give her secondary grasping claws, I guess. Hmm. Might as well; I’ll do that tonight, then, it’s about time for her to start the shedding process anyway.

Molasses molasses, I’m getting molasses today~! And then I actually smell that shit. I remember- the worst day of my life, not counting when Puck- How I broke my fucking wing when I was twelve maybe and I’m- I’m getting a tierce barrel of rum and to hell with the consequences, I will goddamn fight anyone who tries to drink out of it. Zoro can kiss his liver’s ass. Oh god there was so much goddam molasses, a tidal wave of black-brown sweetness, oh god. If god could shit on licorice, that’s what it’d taste like oh god I can still smell it I-

I press my back to the wall of an alley and count down from a thousand in increments of seven. Deep breath. I loose a little time, but not a lot.

And then I buy the rum. (I think at one time, I used to really like rum. It might have been my favorite. Bourbon’s my favorite now, but I haven’t seen any in ages… I’ll ask Sanji maybe.)

I don’t really know why anyone would try and rob a young woman carrying a tierce-barrel of rum on one shoulder and a giant deadly centipede on the other. Hell, I’d think twice about going for someone with the big string of smaller kegs and casks hanging down their back; I mean, they’re empty, but still. It’s really- there are simpler ways of committing suicide. However, my careful path to avoid having more people than necessary take that final, fatal, step also takes me past an old churchyard. I leave behind a quartet of crickets and return to the ship. The barrel of rum goes underneath the honeyjacket hives; if anyone in the crew is actually stupid enough to try and get at it after I specifically told them the dangers of approaching the Danger Ladies without my help, well. I know what they’ll get.

Robin’s hair joins the hair collection; I’ve only got Zoro and Nami left. It’s a tossup which is going to be more difficult. I grab the ant hive, the termite hive, and empty jars- one used to be a jam jar, and the other is a mason jar- and three of the smaller casks. Crabby leaps onto my back from the wall where she’s made her nest. Such a good girl. Then I go back to the old churchyard. There’s a wild tumble of mallow-weed, which I transplant into one of the smaller casks; I dig up a dogwood sapling and plant it in the biggest cask I have; and a bush of hibiscus- still blooming- goes in the last cask. The termites go down seven feet and fill the jam jar with grave dirt; I put it in Crabby’s bag, then have her doughty claws clamp onto the smaller casks. The dogwood tree goes into my arms. Scarf drapes herself over my shoulders like a particularly lethal stole.

On the way back to the ship, I nearly walk into a very angry- embarrassed? - something, Nami, and a rather beaten up Zoro and Luffy.

 

“Oh my. What happened?”

“ **THESE- THESE IDIOTS- THEY WOULDN’T FIGHT- THEY COULD HAVE SWEPT THE FLOOR WITH THOSE ASSHOLES WHO WERE LAUGHING AT- AND THEY DIDN’T DO SHIT!** ”

“Oh. So it wasn’t worth fighting then.”

“ **WHAT.** ”

“Well, Nami, it’s like this- sometimes it’s worth fighting. And sometimes the people trying to start shit ain’t worth a cuss.”

“Zehahahahaha! He’s got the right of it! It’s not worth dignifying schoolyard taunts with a response. You want the One Piece, you should go for it! Zehahahaha!”

 

I’m walking away. I’m nearly to the ship before the others catch up with me.

 

“Tailor, why did you-”

“That man is a betrayer Zoro. I won’t stand where he stands.”

“Neh...should I kick his ass?”

“No, Captain. It’s not our business.”

“Alright.”

“Oh yes- Zoro, can I have some of your hair? I only need yours and Nami’s now...”

“Um. Why?”

“Gift for Merry.”

“Mm. Sure?”

“Cool. Nami?”

“Um- if it’s for Merry, I suppose it’s alright.”

“Mm. I’ll take it from the back so it’s not too noticeable.”

“Ah, thank you.”

 

We climb back onto the ship. Luffy goes somewhere- I put the plants I’ve potted with Nami’s tangerine trees, and Crabby hands me my scissors. I am reasonably sure I can get some of Zoro’s without leaving him looking too stupid.

Nami sits first; I cut her lock without fanfare. Her hair is a coppery orange, and smells faintly like citrus oil and ink. I spin it into a little rope and tie it into a square knot. Zoro goes next, and his hair results in a surprisingly fine and soft tuft of mint ice cream colored hair. A spider winds it into a little nugget for me. All the hair is gathered now- I put it all into the cigar box with the other locks from the crew, and tie it shut with a ribbon. The only things I need now are saffron, gold dust, and a whole albacore tuna; I’ll have to consider nightshirts as well. However, before I commit myself, I need to talk to Merry. 

Our ship is named Going Merry. She is a caravel class ship designed by a man named Merry; he gave the crew the ship to a woman named Kaya. Back in the East Blue, Kaya was saved by the Straw Hats; Merry was given to the Straw Hats as a reward for saving her. She has two lateen sails and two decks, with a rather generous hold. In our journey together, I’ve come to regard her as a beloved companion and home. I cannot bear to simply let fate take it’s course- unlike a sword spirit, which can be reforged or renamed as the situation demands, ship spirits are a little more finicky. Yubashiri is Doomed with a capital D. Merry might not be.

 

‘Merry, what do you think? How bad is it?’

‘Ah, it’s really- I can keep carrying you all, for sure.’

‘...Try again, but tell the truth this time.’

‘I-. I think- I think my keel is cracking. It’s not- It’s not so bad, not so bad I can’t carry you all, it’s just-’

‘If a ship’s keel cracks, that’s it.’

‘Y-yes. I- I need a shipwright.’

‘We’re almost certainly not going to find one in time.’

‘I know.’

‘So. If it comes down to it, do you want me to make you a changeling?’

‘I- I won’t be a ship anymore.’

‘No.’

‘I’ll still be a crewmember.’

‘Of course.’

‘I- yes. I never want to stop sailing with you all; if my body truly can’t be saved, please- please make me a changeling.’

‘Okay. I’ll start preparations immediately. And Merry?’

‘Yes?

‘Tell me immediately if it gets worse- the stronger you are before the transition, the better your chances. Got it?’

‘Yes. Thank you, Mav.’

 

  
There are some things in life that aren’t worth fighting over. There are some people who aren’t worth the spittle and curses. 

 

And there are some people who are.


	10. Flighty

I look like  [ a female version of my sire ](http://orig05.deviantart.net/1c14/f/2011/129/d/0/female_aokiji_by_littlewindy7-d3frf4e.png) now; my hair shines red and my bust is nearly flat, which is unfortunate but cannot be helped. That might be why Robin is having such a reaction to me, although I’m not sure where she would have had close personal contact with  [ him ](http://vignette4.wikia.nocookie.net/onepiece/images/a/a9/Kuzan_Anime_Pre_Timeskip_Infobox.png/revision/latest?cb=20130410093251) … And I don’t really want to ask. It’s not kind to bring people’s traumas out into the open air unless they’ve accepted the necessity of it. Robin has not.

 

So there’s this guy named Montblanc Cricket. According to Robin, he has information we’ll need to get to Skypiea. (He’s also descended from Montblanc Norland, of the North Blue, who I hadn’t heard of before he told us about him. Of course, once Cricket had told us about his relative, I remembered something about Sanji. I know him. I’ve known him for a long time. I don’t remember the why yet, but I know him.)

I’ve never heard of that particular island (skyland? Skisle?), but the Sky Blue is vast and tumultuous. Considering the Green Land of Fairisle closed it’s harbors about two hundred and fifty years after the Alliance of the Twenty Kings, it’s not terribly surprising that the system of Gods and Deities that Queen Una set in place would have deteriorated; no governing system, no matter how powerful or effective, lasts without maintenance. Of course, Queen Elphame was more concerned with solidifying the realm, not actually governing it. I only managed to get Fairisle straightened out before Aradia’s festering jealousy drove her to act, myself. Oh. Getting closer to the truth, now.

 

I finally remembered what she was so jealous of, at least- changelings, being imperfect creations of imperfect creatures, have, more often than not, a certain error. It can be as mild as mismatched eyes, or as severe as missing an entire limb. The child is always born- or hatched, I should say- entirely functional; but imperfect to the standards of Court. It was especially bad for Aradia because she’s tone deaf. Without extreme extenuating circumstances, she could never inherit the throne or the crown.

Which may explain a few things. I also hesitate to say if Aradia was- no. No. Mother was mad, true, but not  _ stupid _ . Something is still false about this recollection, but it’s truer than it was before.

Progress: I’m making it.

  
  


You know, if it wasn’t for Mocktown, I’d probably really like Jaya. I do however feel the presence of some truly magnificent bugs- centipedes of a particularly deadly variety, corpses full of maggots, snails and slugs, beaches full of hermit crabs. There’s an ant kingdom a billion souls strong and the hissing wrath of bombardier beetles. Bombardier beetles! Oh those are cool, I’m gonna grab me some of those.

 

The Ναυτίλος I found are very interesting- exactly the kind of thing I was missing. Or perhaps- something I had forgotten. Each of the Ναυτίλος has a specific power- and my fingers remember how to use them, even if my mind doesn’t. There’s a softer piece of shell in the middle of the spiral, and on the other side are a multitude of tiny holes. When I press it, a milk-white thread of cloudstuff pours out of it onto my sewing table. I know these- these are Dials!

A Dial is the remains of a Ναυτίλος; in life, each tiny hole would have had a tiny sucker, excepting the big hole, which would have had several thousand tiny tentacles. Of the molluscs, Ναυτίλος have the strongest grip; trying to get something away from one often results in a bunch of torn off tentacles.

As for the Dials I found- Lamp Dials, which emit a steady glow when depressed; at this size they will charge fully in about a day. They emit a pale sunlight like opal-blue glass and soft winter days spent inside. Milky Cloud Dials, normally used in all manner of Skysea construction- but at lower atmo, they’re much more useful as fabric; I have a grand total of seven of them. I actually have all the thing’s I’d need for skysilk which isn’t what I’d normally make a skinsuit out of, but it does laminate very smooth, and if I weave it properly with spidersilk…

So. Spinning thread is not something I can actually do in the sewing room- which has nothing to do with the room and everything to do with me. I need to be around people to spin at my best; I can’t involve my brain in the spinning at all, the thread will come out lumpy. And I can’t spin skysilk with anything other than my hands. I can’t spin it bare-handed though.

I need a spindle- a simple pole will be fine I should think, and considering how sleek a real skinsuit is, a weight and at least one Jet Dial. Spinrings as well, proper skysilk can’t be woven with the bare hand. Seven is a lucky number in Fairy culture, so there are seven rings I’ll need to make or acquire; four for the first finger bones, and two for the distal second, and one for the thumb. I’ll need to make them out of bone, I don’t have the tools to make a spinring out of wire. I suppose if I’m making them out of bone, like oldstyle, I might as well make bone needles as well. Nothing moves through skysilk smoother. Hmm.

 

For Merry’s goldust, I’ll need to get some gold and have it shaped by ants- considering Merry’s age I’ll need at the very least a full kilogram. Nami’s not going to like that. It might be best to start making it right away; I take a wall hook and nail it into one of the posts of my sewing room. Sorry Merry. A long silk bag of a very fine, filmy weave is secured to the wall. It will be powdered via ant-jaw, and mixed with silk.

Silk is interesting mystically- it’s considered inert for most processes, and can be used to store volatile components without cross contamination. For a changeling, as I recall, silk will metamorphosize into the fine hairs of the body and the overall thickness and length of the hair. (There are other analogues, but spider silk is what I have easy access to, seeing as it’s the wrong time of year for gathering Angora, and we don’t have any angora possums either so it’s a moot point.) 

Each component has a specific purpose; the freely donated hair creates an actual bloodline for the child, and each donor adds genetic diversity. Seawater, eggshells, gravedirt, and gold together transmute to become blood, yellow bile, black bile, and phlegm. The whole tuna becomes the body, with a fairy mash (pixie pears and fairy cheese squished together with olive oil and the petals of the hibiscus flower) making up for any organs and bones the fish doesn’t posses. (Being of royal lineage, the secret of queen’s jelly is within my knowledge- and fairies born without queen’s jelly are… weak. Flighty. Not suited for warfare- as it’s only the advent of the Twenty King’s Alliance that brought about the naming of our Queens as such. Before then, we had… something else.) The liquor becomes the amniotic fluids, and rum is preferred for its high purity and alcohol content; also, tradition. The barrel is the shell.

None of the components are optional; even royal jelly is not optional, not if the changeling is to have my hair, my eyes, my wings- even in potentia. I will not- it is far too easy for a common Fae to die in something as small as a hailstorm. A single stone of ice from the sky will splatter a modern Fae’s brains in the dirt- and that never seemed right, to me. That’s something that changed very much in the Void Century. As I recall, it’s highly illegal to create royal jelly if the maker is not Royal. Legally speaking, I’m not- but then again... It’s a damn good thing I’m a pirate. It’s even better that I was a princess before.

Best of all- I think Sanji has saffron. I might not need to purchase it at all. Wait, no, that’s tea and cardamom, I need way more saffron than Sanji would be willing to give- good lord this is going to be a hassle. Ah well. For Merry, I’ll do this and more.

  
  


I ask Nami at dinner. I was right. She isn’t happy to do it.

 

“So I need a kilogram of gold for Merry.”

“Burn in hell, Tailor.”

“Nami, if you don’t supply it, I’ll have to go and steal it from Mocktown or something. Do you really want blood-gold to be a part of Merry’s future gift?”

“...no.”

“So. One kilogram of gold. You can supervise the collection of it? But I need a kilogram of gold. If it’s any consolation, I also need about five grains of saffron.”

**_“HOLY SHIT!”_ **

“Mm, yes; Sanji. I’ll also need equal amounts of tallow, and honey- far more than saffron or gold, actually. I will provide the honey, and saffron if necessary, but I need your help with the tallow, I can’t stand the smell-”

“What do you need that much saffron for?!” Sanji’s voice is a full octave higher.

“Well, I’m hardly going to give Merry a poorly made body, that’s wrong-”

“Saffron- is it really that important?”

“Oh um, yes. Yes, Nami, it is.”

“Nami-chan, saffron is worth seven times more per gram than gold.”

“What.”

“Mm. Without it, fairies are weak. Very, very weak. Die in a hailstorm weak.”

“Eeh?” That was Chopper.

I’m going to have to explain this.

I don’t want to. I don’t want to think about this because then I’ll have to think about all the rest and I don’t want to. Ignoring the stench of dirty laundry doesn’t get it cleaner faster, it just makes it worse. Woman up, Mab.

 

“I don’t remember all of it. But. The skisles of Sky Blue- Skua- move around? And my home skyland, Faeland, the Green Isle; it, in particular, moves around a lot. I don’t- I’m making Merry a body, and the only way I know to do that is literally a kind of blood magic. I could do it the usual way and have sex with someone, or I could do it the other way and that takes components from outside the body. One of them is saffron.” 

 

Chopper is very interested, as is Robin. 

 

“If a fairy is given access to enough saffron during the formative stages before birth- be it from their mother ingesting it, or from addition in the changeling process... -thinking on it now, it’s also possible to add during the settling stage but it’s a hassle for a number of reasons- they will be of similar strength to any other person on the planet. For a long period of history, until sometime during the Void Century, really, Fairies were the only ones who really cultivated saffron and cared about it as a spice at all.”

“And with its commoditization came-” 

 

Robin gets it first.

 

“Disaster. I know Sky Islands are real because I’m  **_from_ ** one- it’s over the waterfall at the Twin Capes- or at least, it was; anyway, that’s a good six kilometers over the Red Line. Or it was last I was there- Sky Blue is not as set as the Four Blues or the Grand Line or the Empty Belts... 

We’re sailing on the Grand Line. If I don’t give Merry enough saffron, a simple fall would snap her neck. A hailstone would dash her brains out. Getting too deep a cut, or a punch from Nami when she’s angry- I can’t. I can’t bring a living being into this world without doing everything I can to protect them. I can’t. Not again. I can’t. I can’t have sex and make her a body that way, not after- I can’t. This is the only thing I know how to do. I-”

I’m crying. Oh god it hurts. I press my hands to my mouth, try not to scream. It hurts.

I knew it would because it did before, but oh god it hurts, it burns like hellfire and makes me want to puke.

 

Luffy is looking at me. I- I- I think I’m going to vomit. I don’t want to vomit all over the table. 

I stagger outside and vomit over the rail into the sea. I’m shaking? I can’t stop crying.

I press my spine to the outer wall of the dining room and I can’t breathe I can’t stop shaking or crying. I- I don’t remember? I remember Aradia saying there wasn’t enough. There wasn’t enough for Puck. And he- and he dropped? Little bones breaking because there wasn’t enough Aradia Aradia Aradia **_I’ll kill her_ ** . Little bones that broke jagged and scratched me up inside the blood was red a dark red like the best kind of rum I hate rum I hate that color it was red and stank of iron between my legs blood and waters and little bones snapping there was no saffron and I fell down the stairs little bones little bones it hurts  **_I’ll-_ ** Why am I so angry at her? Why did she shoot me three times? I- I can’t- remember- saffron, I need saffron to make a body for Merry there will be no more breaking of little bones and no more rumblood on the stones and I can’t have children anymore- I won’t have children who are born like that with little jagged bones that scratch themselves all away and cut to pieces and- no, no that’s not right I just- why did I fall-  **_I’ll kill her_ ** \- I can’t I can’t never again- I-

I-

I-

I-

  
  


Chopper is in Heavy Point. He’s counting, and squeezing my hands- soft, hard, harder, hardest, soft. One, two, three, four, five. One two three four five. One two three four five. One two three four five. One two three four five. One two three four five. One two three four five.

 

I breathe with Chopper. I’m calmer now. The moons are very bright tonight.

 

“I’m not bringing Merry into this world without making it safe for her. I won’t do it.”

“Okay.”

“A-and I don’t care about expenses, this has to be done right. It gets done right or I’m not doing it at all, no matter how- no matter how bad Merry gets.”

“Okay.”

“I- I got shot twice in the head, and once to the wings. It took all four of them. The bullets messed me up. I don’t remember important things. They’re coming back. It’s coming back. I have such a rage in me- and all of it for my sister, Aradia and  _ I can’t remember why. _ ”

“Okay.”

“...you asked about previous medical conditions a while ago, right?”

“Yeah.”

“I- when you get a chance, could you do a gynecological exam?”

“...yeah, Tailor. Of course.”

 

I am not okay. 

Chopper’s a good doctor. It’s good we have him with us.

Nami lets me have the gold. Robin looks at me differently now. I’m- tired. Again. 

I don’t mean to be a bother but there will be no body for Merry without that much saffron. Sanji was not relieved to hear it. Chopper is concerned about me. Zoro is quieter than usual.

My bug prosthetic doesn’t work at night; the bugs need to sleep.

I’m going to stop talking now, I’ve thoroughly ruined the mood.

  
  


(Captain let me wear his hat for the rest of the evening. He’s a good guy.)

  
  
  


I have a conversation with Merry later that night.

 

‘I only need a few grains of saffron, Merry- I can get a fish tomorrow and it’ll be done-’

‘No! I can’t- I can’t just leave them like that! We’ll be at the Isle of Fountains soon, won’t we?’

‘Merry-’

‘I cannot leave you all to sail without me! The Isle of Fountains is known for their ships, I can make it till then. I just- you have to let me try, Mav!’

‘I- Okay. Okay. I’m getting it anyway- I’ll make a gown and all the things you’ll need; you can’t go around nude as a human, after all. Humans are thin skinned and fur-less, after all... Fermentation doesn’t actually matter, even if it’s recommended, it’s just so if you can’t get all the ingredients at once- what matters is having everything there. I- I already lost my children, I won’t lose you too.’

‘Mav- I. We just need to get to the Isle of Fountains. I can bear it, it’s not far. I’ll be alright.’

‘Okay.’

  
  


Chopper’s a good doctor. His brain-point has very small hands. The speculum is kinda cold though? Or maybe that part of me is very sensitive to temperatures. Chopper handed me a mirror when I asked.

There’s a neat hole where a muscle would be in other mammals- normal for a human, as I recall- and a ragged webwork of silvered scar tissue. It’s exactly as I remember-thought. The scars explain why sometimes my periods are so dreadful- sometimes I get wingcramps without actually having wings, so it stands to reason I must get lady cramps without actually having all the lady bits. La-ow- she’s a good surgeon, but she’s not the best and I was not sane when it happened, I can’t imagine I made it easy for her. (Easier for her. I- I- What- Ow.) He examines the rest of me; my ovaries, the tubes, everything. All is well as far as he can feel, hear, and touch- just, you know. The scars are extensive.

I can have a baby, it’s just… dangerous. I’ll probably be one of those bedrest-required pregnancies. At least, with my Sea Longing addressed I’m less likely to miscarry now; considering what it was like before- ow.

Life is dangerous.

 

I go swimming. 

It’s mid morning when I leave. I don’t come back until a bit after sundown, carrying a skipjack tuna that’s still flopping over one shoulder and another in my other hand, leaving a trail of seawater and fish slime on the deck. I throw the bigger one into the rum, where it thrashes and thumps before subsiding. A faint, glub-laden hiccup bubbles up through the clear liquid.

I go back outside. I lean against the rail and eat the other one. I’m- not okay. 

I don’t want cooked food right now. 

I don’t want to talk to anyone right now. 

 

Black claws form at my fingertips but they’re ragged. They cut cleanly enough, but I need rings to channel with to make them look good as well. This is a good tuna. I end up eating everything but the stomach and intestinal guts, the bile duct and throat and teeth and spine; I don’t quite have the jaw strength to crunch through to the brain, and the fins are more trouble than they’re worth. Pretty enough, but too many tiny bones that scratch on the way down.

There is a bottle in the fish’s guts. It’s a sealed bottle of lavender oil. There’s other things; a pair of white curling sheep horn shaped hairclips striped with gold, a chain-link charm necklace with only a few charms left- a boat anchor, a ship’s wheel, a red and white striped ribbon tied in a bow; a tarot deck, each card made of very thin, very sturdy wood; and twelve compasses. They are ordinary Blue compasses, and so quite, quite useless on the Grand Line. Still, I’m sure I’ll find a use for them. Maybe I’ll practice my sculpting skills by turning them into more charms? I think I’ll do that. Something. Maybe later, actually.

I check the lavender- it’s still good. I leave the spine in my sewing room with the ant hive; they’ll clean it better than I ever could. I throw the rest of the fish I ate- the skull, the fins, the shit-filled guts- into the compost barrel I set up after I put all the plants in the ship garden. It’s good to have a place to make dirt, as well as deliciously effective bug bait. Also it’s nice to have somewhere to put the things we absolutely cannot eat from Sanji’s food production. Like bonemeal from after he makes soups- repetitive tasks are soothing for me, and grinding bone meal is kinda fun, actually.

I’m not okay, but I’m a little better than before. 

 

I should probably have washed all this blood off before it dried and started flaking, and I can’t really just wash it off in the sea, there’s sharks out right now. I mean there’s always sharks I guess, but they’re extra feisty at dawn and dusk, and I’m not about that sharkbite life. Oh god this is kinda itchy now I’m gonna go scrub this off.

I end up crying silently in the shower. I feel miserable during, and much better after. 

Not okay, but not as bad as before. It hurts, but it’s not something to die from, I don’t think.

I still don’t really want to talk about it, but that’s what journaling is for. 

It well may be the mode of expression in the Lower Blues is to obey your Obligation Duty and Honor before your Human Nature, but as following through in that course will often lead to suicide, Skua does not  _ quite _ hold to it. It’s ubiquitous, sure, but… there’s a reason Mab  _ Boudicca _ is the one who died, and Mab  _ Tailor _ yet lives. Is this way of thought considered rude and unseemly by the rest of the world- schizophrenic, even? Certainly. But if I cared for being polite, or sane, I’d be dead by now.

I’ve got far too much to do to die so soon.

I’m still not okay, but it turns out that Montblanc Cricket (relation to Montblanc Norland?)- you know, the guy Robin said had information about the local skyland- is the boss of the salvage dudes. Apparently it’s an entire salvager’s alliance. 

After hearing our tale, they fix up Merry for us over about three days. I guess our story was moving or something? At the end of the first day, she’s got a reinforced hull, and a pair of chicken wings. By the second day, I’m okay enough to do my job as the Straw Hat Sewing Professional.

 

I wave the salvagers away- the only person who’ll be making cloth and checking sundries for the Going Merry is  **_me._ **

I actually made a cotton-silk mix of the five major colors, one bolt for each. I cut the red into the appropriate shapes, sew it neatly into the shape of a chicken’s wattle, and tie it firmly to Merry’s figurehead. I leave ample space for Luffy’s special seat as well, with the minor addition of a cushion and another small trunk, this one with a small folded cape and a raincoat. There’s a coil of rope, too, just in case.

Nothing left to chance, if I can help it.

I take the chance to go over every single piece of Merry’s rigging and both of her lateen sails. I check our Jolly Roger, and the Big Mark on the white sail, which I finally finished. I check that the red and the white are still separated on the lateen sail. Every rope and every binding, every hammock, blanket, coat, and wardrobe.

I take a moment to admire my work. I only needed to make one adjustment to her striped sail; the rest was perfect. It took the full day because I was still a bit ill, but when I was done Merry all but gleamed. I do good work.

On the third day, I laugh at my crewmates as they attempt to catch a Southbird, but quietly and without teeth. I don’t quite have the heart to tell them that I can just make a south-pointing creature. It’s not terribly difficult; hell, if we set sail at night, I can navigate by stars. Oh. Now there’s a thought.

 

“Hey Nami.”

“Hey Tailor- feeling better?”

“Yeah. I- yeah. Um- do you know anything about wayfinding?”

“...What is wayfinding?”

“It’s a really ancient form of sky-specific navigation that doesn’t rely on objects to point the way- a Log Pose is useful enough, but it’s really just a pointer, and not all that useful if you have to navigate from the sky to the sea and islands below, and back. What do you know about Astronomy?”

“Not all that much- is it important? In wayfinding, I mean?”

“Um- for what I’m going to teach you, yes, absolutely. Often times, when your pointer isn’t working, or it’s working too well, the stars can point the way.”

 

Nami and I stargaze a lot now. She has nightmares too- rather than just lie awake breathing together, if I have one, I’ll get up and sit with the ship’s garden, stargazing. If I wake her up, which I usually do, because my nightmares are sufficient to kick me out of my hammock, she follows me out. I tell her stories about the stars; there are secrets hidden obliquely in them, and I explain them to her, all the secrets. Some things you don’t forget, no matter how many bullets catch you in the head. 

  
  


Oh yes, and I have pajamas now; a sleeping shirt and a pair of short shorts. After Drum, I made myself a pair of slippers as well. Cold floors can go straight to hell. Fucking bullshit.

I might consider a gown; Sanji saw me in my pajamas because I wanted a glass of water and he thought I was Luffy and um.

Well, I might have panicked and gotten Chopper because his nose wouldn’t stop bleeding. Chopper yelled. I was crying and babbling and hitting him, Sanji I mean- I, I think? I think that’s what I was doing. It’s a bit of a blur.

Anyway, Sanji doesn’t get nosebleeds when he looks at women anymore- I guess my reaction was sufficient to keep his… honestly, rather innocent imagination in check. I’ve always felt that the more of a person’s body you can see, the less you can fantasize about them. If it’s all right there, there’s no… mystery, no excitement to consider peeling all the outer layers away and touching them bare.

Robin is grinning at me; I mean, I did just quote an erotic novella. We have the same porn tastes and it’s a magical thing. I have things she doesn’t- she has things I don’t. So.

We’re trading porn now and it’s amazing.

I don’t really share porn with Nami- she’s more into some heavy shit, and I don’t… BDSM  doesn’t really get my motor going, although I can make recommendations about what to and not to do. Nami is into domination- dominating, and being dominated. Which is fine, really, but it’s not my thing. Robin likes bondage- again, not my thing. I’ll do both for my partner if they want, but it’s not really my thing. 

I like crossdressing and a little bit of roleplay, honestly. I’ll talk about sex frankly, because if you don’t it’s very easy to get confused- but my personal tastes are quite plain. On the curly-fries end of kink, perhaps? Curly fries aren’t really that big a departure from normal potato fries; they’re just a little odd looking, nothing terribly… It’s nothing to get arrested for.

Nami and especially Robin like stuff you can get arrested for; so does Usopp, and Captain. Captain doesn’t really  **_do_ ** sexual attraction that I’ve noticed, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t be able to derive pleasure from the act. He does do romantic attraction, but I’ve not yet noticed if he’s got an eye on anyone in particular- it might have been Zoro, but I don’t think he’s going to risk that friendship.

Zoro, of course, is repressing himself like a madman, trying to sublimate his sexual urges into his swordsmanship. On the one hand, sex and romance does have the tendency to temporarily weaken the body or heart. On the other, sex and romance expands the mind, as all experience does. If it continues much longer, I’ll broach the subject with him, see how he feels about it. See if he has words for it- he might not.

I wonder what Sanji- nevermind.

  
  
  


There’s a whirlpool pillar- excuse me, a special current we’re going to ride up into the sky. Shit like this is so stupid you can’t make it up. I’ve secured all my things, all my sewing materials, my sewing machine, latched my button box closed and secured all of Merry’s egg-things too. I made rigging specifically to secure the cannons and all our shit; it worked perfectly, and there were even enough lines to secure us all to the ship.

And then the water comes- that traitorous man was yelling something, but I ignored him. There were more important things. We sailed up a pillar of violent wave, riding it into the Sky Blue. It felt like doing a stoop dive in full skinsuit and arms; the sudden thrust, the near breathless feeling of air screaming and clawing past, the world turning into a bright tunnel of sound and light and the pure exhilaration of it all together bubbling inside of my stomach. There’s a sharp moment of weightlessness right at the beginning and then we’re hurtling for the sky fast enough I can feel my bones start to tingle with memory, my blood pounds through my body- I want- I want-

I want to fly.

There’s a moment when we’re in the Low Sky, buffeted by clouds and wind; and then we burst like corks into the clean blue and I want. I want- I want- I want to fly.

My limbs twitch and ache and I can’t seem to stop and stand still. The air is so blue up here, the sky so vast and formless and the sun is so bright and I want. I want. I want to fly.

My shoulders clench and unclench. Phantom wings buzz with anticipation. Real wings buzz with anticipation. Falkor climbs my legs, settles over my shoulders, attachment- pain-ticipation. Burning need. I want- I want- I want- I want to fly.

I have to fly.

  
  


I’m wearing a brown leather halter top and a pair of tan short shorts. I leave my sandals on the deck. My toes dig into the smooth wood of the rail, in a spot that isn’t creaky or terribly worn and I want to fly. My wings buzz. Crabby scuttles up with Shelly and my water pack and my gas-shell and my overts and I want to fly.

I click my lenses in place, slide the water pack into it’s spot on the small of my back. Falkor shifts and wiggles a bit until the tubing lies securely. I pull on my gas-shell, ensuring air and water intake are correctly arranged. Brown Signal Crab settles around my throat like some kind of φωνή-choker. I bounce on my heels, which aren’t actually on the rail, they’re just in the air sorta hanging out and I want to fly.

I look at Nami.

I look at the skysea, it’s rolling white crests and it’s golden edges.

I Look at Nami.

 

Nami rolls her eyes, then smiles indulgently. “Go.”

“Thank you.”

 

I jump into the Sky Blue. There’s a moment where I entirely forget how to fly. That moment passes.

I’m laughing.

I move and blink and Blink and the world is made of white clouds and color. The air is  [ blue ](https://youtu.be/mKTRw3uHyDs?t=8s) .

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


I forgot the words.

I fly for what feels like hours but can’t be because I’d have run out of water and there’s a masked man-

I Blink and shove his arm out of the way. A gout of flames eats into the blue; I duck a fist that echoes and slam a kick to his sternum. He goes flying into the blue, and I snap into a sharp hover in front of my crew how dare he.

My crewmates are not as I am, they cannot breathe the thin air with ease. I take my gas-shell off, let my waterpack and it slide to the deck. I breathe in the blue air. It’s cold and thin and I feel- alive. The man darts forward and I meet him with another kick, this one to the gut; because I could brace against Merry, I was able to send him skipping across the surface of the white skysea.

Brown Signal Crab is still around my neck. I’ll just leave her there.

I only just managed to fly with exhilaration; I’m not ready for a real flight. That said, if it comes down to it, I will keep this guy from hurting my friends.

Thankfully, a sky knight comes and stops the man. Which means I don’t have to. Which is great, because my limbs feel like jellied eels. I fall to my knees on the deck with a quiet gasp, before I make myself stretch aching limbs. I’m so out of shape!

Falkor lets go of me and gathers up my flying gear. I straighten my legs in front of me and wheeze for a moment; hook my hands around the arches of my feet and pull!- my back muscles out long and flat. Oh god I can’t even stretch right, fuck, fuck-

 

“Zoro, could you press on my shoulders please?”

“-an Fall, a Sky Knight-”

“Uh. Sure.”

 

Zoro has astonishing self control. I mean, yes, he’s training to be a master swordsman, eventually the best in the world; of course he does- but when he presses his hands into the upper rounded slope of my shoulders and presses against them… I push back against him and stretch the fine wing muscles in the middle of my back. Normally I’d pull the whole wing forward and stretch like that but- well.

There’s a series of stretches we learn as children to keep our muscles in good condition; but I broke one of my wings when I was young and needed to learn an entire series of alternate stretches. They all require a partner- but of my crewmates, Zoro is perhaps the one with enough physical strength and control to really help me do them. I should probably explain that to him.

 

“You’ve been talking out loud for a while.”

“Oh. Well, in that case-”

“What do you need me to do next?”

“Hold my shoulders from the front side. Keep them where they are- I’ll turn under your hands, but don’t let me push forwards.”

“Alright. ...Um. Aaugh.”

“Yeah, I’m very flexible.”

“Your head is between your ankles because you walked your feet back under your head, Tailor. That’s a bit more than flexible.”

“Ouuuf. Well, I guess- but speed and flexibility are some of the things I trained most of my life for? Oh, yeah, hold my feet down please.”

“Okay. Er… does that hurt?”

“What, putting my elbows flat like this? It only hurts because I overdid it just now- I’ll have to stop here for now because I haven’t done all these stretches for a while, I just didn’t have the muscle tone for it. Thank you.”

“Sure.”

 

I roll up into a handstand, curve my spine again and press my feet to the deck. I brace my feet, then steadily lift back upright. I stretch my arms and legs; my back still aches, but not so badly a long hot soak won’t fix it. Sanji is covering his face with his hands? And Zoro is patting him on the shoulder. 

I do not understand.

We sail through cackling Sky Blue; heavy white waves scudd underneath Merry’s smooth hull. Clouisles puff up in dimpled white puffs, little clod-spits of bouncy wet-walk. Captain and Usopp run around on them, laughing and whooping with glee. 

I put Falkor back on, just in case. 

Captain falls off the clod-spit not a minute later. I dive after him- the skysea is still the sea, after all. Captain managed to fall about a hundred feet and was steadily gaining speed- the swimming stroke I set Falkor to eats away the distance until my arms snap around rubbery ribs.

Hugging Luffy is weird- where normally the ribcage stops, on him it gives. It’s almost like hugging a shark-type fishman- there’s the same weight of muscle and sinew, the same almost fluid give where I would expect solid bones. However, Luffy is a great deal warmer than the average fishman. He also tends to hug back a lot more.

I plop Luffy back on the deck. I plop onto the deck. Usopp gasps up onto the rail, then slithers over onto the deck.

 

I need a snack.

“I’ll make you something Tailor-kun.”

“Oh- thank you Sanji. Um, could I have fruit preserves and yogurt maybe? Or some buttered toast? I don’t want to trouble you too much...”

“It’s fine Tailor-kun.”

 

He brought me a whole plate of beautifully sliced fruit, a filet of perfectly cooked skyfish, and the toast I asked for, cut into triangles. Sanji is a precious treasure, and I love him quite a bit. Mostly because he’s a good man and he feeds me delicious food and he’s good to spar with and he’s very handsome which I appreciate. Whoop, there it goes, that blush I so enjoy. Really need to make that prosthetic, it can’t be comfortable having my commentary running nonstop.

 

“It’s not, but it’s also kind of endearing, Miss Tailor.”

“Ah?”

“Yes- it provides a delightful insight into what you really think of everything. It’s refreshing, having someone around who genuinely speaks their mind.”

“Ah. Well, I won’t actually stop doing that- I’d just like to be aware when I’m speaking and when I’m not.”

“Oh. Now that’s understandable.”

“Mm. Oh, Robin- is there anything in particular you’d like on your Winter Island coat? I made quilted hantens for everyone else- but I wanted to ask you if you had a preference or no.”

“Oh. Well Miss Tailor, I’m partial to purple and black.”

“Would you like flowers, or some sort of creature?”

“I like casablancas, and cranes are very lovely.”

“Hmm. I’ll see what I can do.”

 

Okay. While I have my spinners settle in for a specialty run of the purple spectrum, I set to work on my first prosthetic bug. I do not recall if I bought five or six barrels, but after setting four in the garden, I was left with two- not counting the rum with fish one. With the ants having finished powdering the gold, it’s only a matter of time before I add the gravedirt, seashells, and eventually seawater. For now, I remove all the ants and seal the bag.

Crickets lined up in rows; seven rows of seven, leaving me with forty-nine. Forty-nine jumping spiders; and forty-nine cockroaches. Their chitin bulges and melts together, their flesh becomes one; their consciousnesses transmuted into new creatures entirely. Forty-nine jewelbugs, row by row. They link their great pincers together like chains, fold slim legs into winding wire-shapes; their jewel like bodies catch light and fracture it into rainbows. I wind the long loop around my neck. The sudden awareness of my breath, my heartbeat, the occasional hum and grumble of my voice- new.

They work. 

They hang around my neck like a  [ necklace ](https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/Fq1WzyPVQARJKXWBfCIcuwqp3vlr7OXmrQHYVbTkz6uRC2-Rp6SmIFecDH61vbW0vKVdoNnQMR_TVzdW6wSBWQez3VnqfRp2OMKiFXnKt8K1dQ_O0_WLrAIhPL1xoJavs7elYjpA) , shimmering chitin backs gleaming under the light. They’re a delicate string of listening bodies resting at the base of my throat. I think I’m getting stronger- because my head doesn’t hurt at all. Since I hope to never be without these service animals, I might as well transform Brown Crawly-Talkie into a pendant. I still have the pendant brooch- or was it just a brooch?- Crocus gave me, but I don’t really wear shawls that are loose enough to fall off. I press the heavy turquoise stone carved with a scarab into the smooth brown back of the crab; it almost warps and bubbles into a heavy pendant studded with shining blue spots and a red-brown carapace- but I change my mind. I’d rather not do that, actually.

  
  


After flighting, I changed my clothing- I don’t really like wearing sweat covered clothing, and it’s pretty easy to take a wash-off in my sewing room. One of my better shirts and a pair of shorts, and I’m golden. (I think in the Lower Blues it’s called an Ao Yem maybe?) I’m actually really excited to fly around in the sky again; it’s been so long since I really flew with any seriousness.

 

I think I’ll make a new shirt- oh god is that what I sound like?”

“Tailor?”

“Sorry Usopp- I made a prosthetic so I don’t talk unless I mean to, I just need to test it.”

“Um- did you really- you really couldn’t hear yourself talk?”

“I could, I just couldn’t tell when I was thinking or talking. There might have been times when I was speaking when I meant to think, and there were certainly times I meant to speak and only thought. ...I apologize for any offense I may have given.”

“No, it’s fine.”

“Ah, if you say so. Oh, um, anything I can help with?”

“Ah, maybe? I need a better ammo bag- my bag was good, but… I need to be better.”

“If you say so- I’ve got leather still, and I could put a silk liner in if you’d like… Um, and I think you’re a lot more useful to the crew than me.”

“E-eh? No, I can’t- I can’t sew, I’m not strong-”

“Well, I’m no good with ranged weapons and I’m not terribly imaginative; all my lies are by omission. Everyone in the world has a god given skill or talent- for some people, it’s things like eating a whole mixing bowl of strawberry flavored gelatin in one sitting, or getting things out of those claw machine games with one coin; mine is humor of a sexual nature, arthropods, and fairy magic. I had to work really, really hard to get any good at the other things I can do. For you, I think one of your god given skills is sharpshooting- but if you want, I can teach you to use the kusarigama? Well, no- you’re not suited for- I mean- I can’t use my sword and the kusarigama at the same time, and the slingshot isn’t really-”

“I don’t- really? I thought- the kusarigama isn’t really my style. But-”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t teach you to use something like it- I was actually thinking of a kusari-fundo, it has a utility that would synergize well with your slingshot. Um. It’s mainly used to disarm, and- if you’re not comfortable using knives and swords, then… I guess, if you think the skills you have now aren’t enough, all I can do is offer you more? I’m. I’m not very good at being consoling, I’m sorry.”

“No, no! You’re doing great, I’m just- I guess it would be most practical to learn a new weapon, I just… You really think I could learn?”

“A new skill? Of course! And- um. I’m pretty sure I can teach you. I have a pair of sewing weights that would be good to learn on- if you thwack yourself with one, it should only bruise...”

“Ah. Um.”

“Usopp my hand to the gods if you say anything about I-don’t-like-bruises disease or something to that effect-”

“No, no, it’s fine, really! I, um. I’d be happy to learn whatever you have to teach me.”

“Okay.”

 

And that’s how I ended up making a kusari-fundo for Usopp- a training version, of course, with slightly padded weights and a carefully knotted rope made of silk yarns. We actually ended up doing a first lesson about an hour after our conversation in my sewing room. Usopp actually picked up the basics quickly; in all honesty, learning the basics for using a kusari-fundo only takes about an afternoon. The lifetime of work really comes from gaining confidence in using it.

 

“So, the first thing you need to know- weapons and martial arts will tell you 'no' all day long. They’ll mock you over and over again, telling you ‘you're an idiot’. That you're crazy. If you like slamming limbs full speed into a stationary object that’s stronger than your everything, hard style martial arts are for you. If you like peeling pieces of skin the size of hundred-beri coins off your hands, polearms are for you. Because the only thing more fun than rips, is when your rips get rips. It's super sexy. And the weirder weapons? Are you serious? I mean, who doesn't wanna smack themselves in the head and break toes and fingers? It's  **_delicious._ ** If you like falling, then flighting is the style for you! You get to fall on your face, your ass, your back, your knees and your pride! Good thing I don’t just like falling, I fucking love it- oh no. Oh god, I did it again, didn’t I?”

“No, it was very informative. Nothing quite like raising lashmarks on your arms, face, legs, and stomach to make you really appreciate the slingshot.”

“Right?! Hey, Luffy-”

“Neh, Tailor?”

“How many times did you punch yourself in the face when you were learning to use your Devil Fruit?”

“Uh, I stopped counting when I was ten, why?”

“Making a point to Usopp, thank you!”

“Sure!”

“See? SANJI, HOW MANY TIMES HAVE YOU BROKEN PARTS OF YOUR LEFT FOOT? He’s left foot dominant.”

“ _ How _ do you know that?”

“STOPPED COUNTING WHEN I WAS TWELVE TAILOR-KUN, WHY DO YOU ASK?”

“GIVING USOPP ENCOURAGEMENT, THANK YOU. SPAR TOMORROW?”

“YEAH.”

“I’m the most observant person on this crew, Usopp. Zoro-”

“-Earning Sandai Kitetsu’s respect nearly required my entire arm, and my life.”

“Yeah, I’m never ever carrying that sword. Not even to move it, I’m not touching that thing.”

“Fair. Usopp, she’s right- new weapons will always try to fuck you up. The kusari-fudo she’s having you use actually looks to be pretty forgiving.”

“Heh. Thanks. So- just keep spinning it?”

“Ah, yeah! Every time you get comfortable spinning it at a certain length, add another knot to your rope. The big red knots in the middle are where you should eventually have your hands- but for right now, just get used to spinning the weight. I’ll run you through actual kata in about a week or so.”

“Okay. ...Hey, Tailor?”

“Yeah? ...Usopp?”

“...thank you...”

 

I gave him a side hug, and only winced a little when the fundo smacked into my face. I’m getting huggier lately? Maybe I was always into hugs, I don’t know.

  
  
  


GIANT SHRIMP GIANT SHRIMP GIANT SPEEDY SHRIMP SHRIMP SHRIMP!

“GIANT SHRIMP GIANT SHRIMP CAN’T TAKE ‘EM WITH US THEIR SHELLS WOULD BUST LIKE EGGSHELLS GIANT SHRIIIIIIIIIIIIMP~!”

“I BET THEY TASTE REALLY GOOD TAILOR-KUN!”

“I’VE HAD THEM BEFORE AND THEY’RE  _ SO TASTY _ BUT THESE ARE SKIMPY SO JUST LEAVE ‘EM. GIANT SHRIIIIIIMP!”

 

We rode the windwaves up and docked on a beautiful beach of sugar-white sand. Nami refused to pay a pretty exorbitant toll. Or was it very cheap? Either way, she refused. Extols aren’t actually a currency- or they weren’t, I guess? An Extol is the term most often used in the Blue Sky I remember to note when someone got thrown in the penalty box after throwing a belt at the opposition during Sportball.

Sportball is not the name of either a sport or a ball, it’s the name of a very popular race on Fairisle. Which- okay, my memory is basically a colander with a giant hole in it at this point, and I’m not entirely sure I want to remember the rest of this subject.

 

That’s a cloud fox. That’s the fattest cloudfox I’ve ever seen. Is it a girl fox? Because if it is, there’s cloud fox kits in the immediate future, she’s about to pop. Or she’s a boy fox, and just really fat.

 

Oh, I remember these. You have to turn them over to get at the juice inside; as I recall the upper shells are hard as steel- Conasshu, the Steel Coconut. Idea. I grab like, five of them- there’s not a wood in this world a termite can’t bore through eventually, even steel coconuts. I need armor too, eventually- a skinsuit is a slippery garment for use in extreme flight maneuvers, especially in low atmo, but it’s not terribly protective. I’ve been in enough flights to know a skinsuit isn’t enough to fight armed opponents.

Unfortunately, the only thing I have that would work as a makeshift skinsuit is the shirt I’m wearing right now, and I made that for function in high-pressure situations. It’s almost completely unsuited for serious maneuvers. I can’t make something better without a set of weaving rings- without them I won’t be able to make skysilk, and making jewelry is not my specialty. I mean, I can carve something to get by with but it’s always better to have the right tool for the job.

Rrgh. Making armor isn’t really my specialty either, but I have at least done it before. I’ll need one steel coconut significantly larger than my head, and more just in case- I’ll make a full flight helm this time, rather than the bare-bones setup I had before. I’ll have to redo my overts as well; these work well enough, but I didn’t make them for use with a helm. The flexliner is made of windgrass; that’s something I’ve used plenty of times before, the only question is if there’s windgrass around or not-

That is a- cherumib woman?

 

“An angel~♥?”

“No, a Cherumib. Angel was an ancient Cherumib princess though, if that helps any.”

“Heso!”

“Chairete!”

“Ah, a Skyslander from the Higher Realms, how- exciting!”

 

I don’t like her. She’s lying.

Oh, the guys found a Waver on the St. Bris. That’s nice. -what the hell is she lying about. She’s lying about something.

I did not say any of that out loud.

 

The main ingredient of Seastone, Pyrobloin, is generally created in the processing of Island or Sea Cloud, which was developed by Titania, Pride of the Vearth. She created it as a method to create scaffolding to raise the moons; however, when it came to actually raising the moons, she discovered that the moons were already there. They became much better as launching pads; during her extraplanetary exploration, she built palaces and garrisons on each stellar body. I’ve been to at least one of them- it’s either Stump Moon or Sugar Whiskey. Might have been Popskull? Those aren’t their names, their names are- ow. 

Anyway, there’s a giant green stone- it’s square or something? A cube, maybe? Covered in carvings or something, it’s been a long time. There’s a really massive labyrinth made out of them- as I recall, they were commissioned by Madame Elphame for some reason- no, they were… They were the second round of commissioned work, the first being simple recordings made on behalf of Queen Ariel. 

I know they’re there, I’ve just never- oh. 

It’s gone now. 

The memory is gone now.

 

There’s a memory of a garden of grey-white furred leaves, the smell of something like carnations and gardenias; there were orbs of soft white petals hovering over pitted black stone. There were paths made of crushed white stone, and I wore sandals of smoothed wood so soft on my feet and the uppers were- were- bells- there were bells- I wore bells on my toes.

I- I- I want to fly. I remember flying over black mirror lakes studded with stars and seeing fish that glowed with every color of light underneath me the quiet chime of metal on porcelain I want to fly I want- Ow!

I’m- tired.

I’m tired.

I’m tired of not being able to remember who I am.

 

Conis only gave half an explanation about Dials. She might just not know. But- no. This is Angel Island, she should know. She would have learned in school, the reforms are hundreds of years old there’s no way-

Her father’s a Dial Engineer. She knows all about Dials. She’s  **_lying._ **

  
  


So Conis lives in a lovely two story house on a little ridge in a cloud park; delicately folded and whorled sunset colors. I don’t see anyone in her neighborhood though except for old people and that’s- weird. This is very weird. There’s a windchime made of painted clay and a long, black and red striped feather like from the wing of a hawk- Shandian. That's from a Shandian's wing, true hawks don't get that big. There’s the traditional round window and a lovely little garden with Vearth- Conis is **_lying_ ** . Conis is lying and I can’t say anything because Nami isn’t- Nami isn’t here. Orange CT is with her. I’m- I need to talk to Nami. I can’t really- I can’t feel the distances between bug concentrations accurately because I can’t get a reckoning; the shadows up here are indistinct and the stars aren’t out yet. I can’t-

 

I follow Sanji into the kitchen; open the pantry and step inside. I press my talkie and start handing Sanji bottles and canisters of things-

 

“Brown to Orange, come in. Brown to Orange.”

“Woo! Orange here! Sup, Brown?”

“So, Conis is lying to us about something; her father’s a Dial engineer, but she only half explained what Dials are. I’ll tell you right now, there’s no fucking way the shells are just found on the fucking beach. Dials are too integral to the infrastructure of every village and town and city in Skua- they do  _ not _ “just wash up on the beach.” She has Vearth at her house too, an entire little garden- and that’s not right. It’s like- it’s like she’s living in a church, or the governor's mansion. Even though we’re in the Grand Line, Sky Blue has been more or less unified culturally since Ariel and Titania Vearth-blessed; so, even here, in the cumuloregalis, Vearth is- It’s not like gold, Nami. You can’t grow food in gold. Even gemstones aren’t really worth anything by themselves up here- Vearth is the most treasured thing. Conis’ father- and Conis herself- are at the most, Dial Engineers. They’re not poor, exactly, but- they aren’t. It’s physical wealth, and they aren’t- I don’t know how to explain this, I’m sorry. They’re not- something’s weird here. I also can’t feel with any accuracy the concentrations of arthropods- it’s not that I can’t feel them, it’s that… there’s some kind of massive interference. I’ve felt something like it during thunderstorms, my bug-sense goes a bit… fuzzy? Maybe? It’s hard to explain, but… Anyway. Have you found anything interesting?”

“Uh- there’s a massive jungle? And the trees are full of just- clouds of schooling eels? It’s kinda interesting. I’m- hmm. See if you can figure out what Conis is lying about, and why; maybe how to explain the Vearth thing. Also, when are you going to make a move on Sanji?”

“Nami!”

“Well, you’ve been flirting with each other since Alabasta, I’m getting kinda bored here-”

“Nami, my relationship with Sanji or lack thereof is not for your spectation! I’ll go at my own pace, and besides, I’m not sure he’d want to-”

“Oh my god, you’re not ugly or unsexy Tailor!”

“I’m not saying I am, I’m saying there are prettier women than me-”

“-and I’m saying of the crew’s women, you’re the one who actually wants to make out with Sanji!”

“I- but I’m not very good at kissing, I don’t-”

“Oh my god just kiss him already! He’s right there isn’t he? I can hear him squeaking, go over and smooch him!”

“Nami oh my god-”

“You smooch that boy right now-”

“OKAY GOODBYE NAMI THANK YOU AND GOODBYE.”

 

I hung up on her. That’s very rude, but also I- SanjiIIIEEEK! My knees are wobbly and I’m immediately pressing my thighs together because that’s my wingbase and I was not prepared to have that touched- gripped? Thumb stroking the scaly ridge and I- my face is. Hot? I- his hand is on my hip and he’s touching both both of my wingbases I, I, I’m gonna I’m gonna I, can’t look him in the eyes he’s turned me around in his arms and he’s stepped closer to me. I. Hot. Heat from his body bringing up heat from mine my knees are touching and my muscles are squiggling and oooh god oooh god- Breathing is good. Breathing is good. I will actually pass out if I stop breathing, I just- hhhaaaaaaah, s-ssss-s-Sanji sanji sanji sanji not so hard please don’t press so hard I won’t be able to stand for hourssss- Sssssaaaaaaah aaaaaaaaaaaah ah I-

 

I-

I-

I-

 

_ Oh yes! _

 

His hands are on my waist now, his thumbs are rubbing circles into my skin I can’t- my whole body is trembling. I put my hands on his shoulders his shoulders are like stones I’m going to fall to my my my knees I’m going to fall. I’m nearsighted, not farsighted. I push my glasses up to rest where my headband usually does. They’re fogged up it does no good when they’re fogged up my head is lolling on my neck I’m so- hot- Everything on the far side of the kitchen, behind Sanji goes blurry and colorful and S-sanji’s eyes are so blue, I- I want.

I’m. Not stable without my glasses, on my feet I mean. I- breathing. I have to keep breathing. My fingers dig into his shoulders and his hand cups the base of my wing I, I, I, S-sanji! I- my face is going to melt. I- so hot, why am I so hot.

 

I know why.

 

Aaaaaaaaaaah ah ah aaaaaaaaaah- oh. Oh god.

Sanji has blonde hair, a golden platinum blonde; his eyebrows and lashes and chin hairs are black. The spiral is a little odd but also cute? If I remember right it’s the same on both sides? I- I don’t- His skin is very smooth and creamy, like havarti cheese almost in color but warmer because of the blood; tones of vermillion and speckles of- of the color of farm eggshells scattered randomly over his skin. I’m not terribly poetic. Duchess nose, cleft chin; the entire ocean in a gaze of sapphire, a kingdom of roses in generous petal pink curves.  [ He ](https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/9P48umwsqkS_xnpAoh27uWMf8jSgY_EpHUQKY5gdk-VsBCywRkDOGckq0t45xsRCeR9KBU-IIXxGw0xDKGvTyA6cUcvLmpv7M-AliWsov6XmSIDeLTuLsDKNIusogAPAt9oKfmcz) is a dangerous affront to the womanly virtues. 

Thank heavens I'm a pirate.

 

His lips are soft against mine. Breathing. Breathing is good. If I pass out, I won’t be kissing S-s-Sanji.

 

His mouth is warm. It’s kind of- slippery. A-aah. Chaste. Chaste kiss. Slime string connecting lip to lip. No. More. I want more. Eyes flash open; redbrown meets blue lip touch warm warm I want- close my eyes and I kiss him this time. My breath comes out sharp through my nose- aquiline nestles to the side of a duchess huff, the soft gasp through squared jaw. Scratch of chin hair; cleft chin. His hair is  _ so soft _ . Kissing his lower lip, warm breath against- gasp inhale lips to lips and don’t clack the teeth don’t clack the teeth that shit hurts- lick the lip. The taste is slightly sour. Savor it.

His tongue is warm. Slippery. This is good, I like this. Cigarette taste of smoke smells of smoke the taste of airy seawater and sweet meat I’m squeaking against his mouth- my heart is pounding and I’m going to I’m going to- ah ah ah ah ah ah aaaaaaaah-

I press my chest into his the buttons of his suit are cold silk suit not mine cotton shirt silk tie. Light blue shirt dark blue pinstripes pearl buttons with white thread surgeon’s shirt with cufflinks shaped like fish that’s adorable. His hand strokes up my spine and rubs over my shoulderrrr tHE BASE OF MY WING MY WING OF MY WING AAAAAAAAAH oh god oh god oh god- my legs are wobbling again. Everything between my thighs and it’s- tingling? Hot. Hot hot hot wet and hot and shaking my legs are going numb so- good feels so good- Hook my arms around his neck and sigh, press my whole body into his and he’s- warm hot line against my and I can’t stop sighing I squeak in his mouth when he rolls his hips slowly it’s so hot I’m so hot- I- I- aaaaaAAAAAAAH♥-

His breath huffs against my face soft lips warm slide against my mouth soft licking against the side of my mouth on my lips soft soft press of forehead to forehead and breathing the same air together.

 

Thin trails of slime between our lips, the glimmer of ocean waves in sapphire and barrows in clay-rich brown. I slowly roll back onto my feet, steady, steady on. Lean my sweaty forehead against his shoulder.  [ Breathe ](https://youtu.be/y1i8RoAQW-8) . Keep breathing.

 

I can’t stand. I can’t stand under my own power oh oh oh- stop, Sanji-

“S-stop, don’t just keep rubbing, I already- I- aaaaaaaaaugh, oh, oh, gnngh-”

“Oh. Oh, sorry-”

“Well don’t stop now-”

“Mmpfft. What, the backrub?”

“S-sanji, it’s not j-just a baaaaAAHck rub, that’s a big nerve cluster and when you rub it-” I cross my legs because this one is a bit- drippy. “oh my god.”

“So, what happens if I do both?”

“Sanji, I won’t be able to walk if you do both.”

“What, like this-?”

“SANJI-”

My legs went limp. 

 

There’s a queer sort of joy on Sanji’s face, a perverted glee curling his face into a blushing grin and I- oh, really? You wanna make it like that?

 

“Mab, Mab no-”

 

I grip between his shoulders with one hand and rub down his chest his belly lower just brushing the top of his hips that scruffy trailing arrow down and he bucks under my hand and his hands spasm and clench against my shoulders and my hand against a hot lump twitching twitching grip and rub aaaAAAAUGH-

And we both fall down.

 

I tuck my face into his neck; there’s a clanging crash as various storm-grade canisters and jarrikins fall to the cloudy ground. He totally kicked the shelf.

 

“You totally kicked the shelf.”

“Hnnmgh.”

“So. Let go of my wing-bases now?”

“Nnngh. Mmm. Mmhmm.”

 

He’s- holding me now? Little leg shivers. There’s a smell- like mushrooms and dirt. Organic. Sweaty and musky and he’s clinging tightly Sanji, Sanji, it’s okay. I kiss his face, his eyes, the tears coming from his eyes- it’s okay. “I- are you okay?” He doesn’t say anything, but he does nod.

 

And that’s- Conis’ father, Pagaya. Um. But-  _ where is his shadow? _

 

“Pick everything up before you come back out, kids.”

“Um.” “Uh.”

“The bathroom’s through the blue door, down the hall on the left. You can use the shower if you need to as well, towels are in the cabinet beside the bathroom door.”

 

And then he walked out with a jug of connashu juice and a platter of cubed cheese and fruit and veggies. I’m- giggling into Sanji. I can’t stop. Judging by the shaking of his chest, Sanji’s finding amusement where he can as well.

We find the bathroom. We do not use the bathroom together, as that’s unsanitary and would lead to even more delays. I rinsed out my underwear and wiped myself off and washed my hands. Presumably, Sanji did the same.

Back in the kitchen, I took all the jars and jarrikins and canisters off the fallen shelf and arranged them neatly on the kitchen table and counters. I pick them up off the floor of the pantry too. Sanji really kicked the shit out of this shelf, there’s a mild scorch mark exactly in the shape of the sole of his shoe. It’s just a surface scorching I think, mostly soot- it’ll clean off easily. Let’s see- yep, it’s set up just like Granuna’s kitchen. She has a kitchen porch outside her cave- anyway. There’s a mint green utility box to the left; the red and white striped box is full of first aid supplies so the minty one is- yes. Cleaning supplies. Let me think, to remove soot-

 

“If it’s dry, use a duster or vacuum it off; if it’s only mostly dry, use a chemical sponge with light pressure. When all the soot is wiped off, clean it with Oil Soap. Use cotton rags. I’ll do that, though, I made the mess-”

“Do you know how to put the shelf back in? The correct way to arrange the jars and such?”

“Uh.”

“...Okay, I don’t know the exact arrangement of their stuff, but I do know the general way we get taught to do it in GE.”

“General Education?”

“Yep.”

“Thought that was only a North Blue thing.”

“Nah- Queen Una set a multitude of Education Reforms after she won control of the North Blue in-”

“-Five Kings, Queen’s High. That’s- that’s a real thing.”

“Yep. To hear her tell it, either that was the battle that took her leg, or the battle with The Great Whale was what did it; unless, of course, it was something else entirely. Shelf’s clean?”

“Oh- yeah. Here.”

“Thank you. ...and clunk! Okay, so the blue canisters, the tall ones? They’re going to be either pasta or grain; and they go in first on the left I think...”

 

And that’s how I helped Sanji make lunch for everybody. When we brought it out, it was to much enjoyment- and when Sanji commented on not seeing Nami on the sea, Conis and Pagaya got very concerned. Hmm.

Wait. Wait wait wait. Upper Yard? Why do I know that name in conjunction with Angel Island? This is going to bother me until I remember. Was it a garrison? No- Dial Engineers, why is that- Drydock, boatyard, Albreich was very proud of the work from the Warchest Archipelago, a bird of thunder that brings the storm, fuck I-

Almighty God Enel? That’s not right.

The God of Angel Island is not almighty, it's just the official name for the Governor...

The God of Angel Island is named Enel. Oh no. Oh no, we need to find Nami  **right now** .

 

“We need to find Nami right now, she’s in terrible danger. Conis- I remember now. You can stop frontin', I’m fullblood Royal- I see right through him now.”

Conis flinches. 

“I’m so sorry. You need to run. You need to forget Nami and run as far from here as you can.”

  
  


The illusion falls apart. Cloying mist is suddenly flat and hazy. Her father vanishes; Pagaya isn’t alive. It was only an echo. I was too concerned with other things to take notice of- oh, oh why is the altar empty, oh no. The house is- mostly the same. But there’s scorchmarks scrawling over every surface, the pictures are shattered; Conis. Oh Conis.

 

What have they done to you?

  
  
  
  


What I have t’say about the Straw Hats and their involvement in the Overthrow of the Governor of Skypiea, during the Sea Age, year of our Queen 1522 is thus.

 

I wasn’t born during the Troubled Days, I was born during the dustups just after. 

 

Daddy said that Mama was a guard for Her Royal Majesty, back before things went so Wrong. Said that Mama won her Lady’s favor by saving her from a rockslide, said that the sparkling spin rings were Mama’s for true, and the plain ones were the Lady’s. Austerity is a mark of royalty, he said.

Said that the Kindly Princess, Mab, used to babysit me. Said she was my favorite person for that whole summer, on account of the fact she couldn’t fly and neither could I. I hated molasses before Daddy said, but after that spring I hated it more and so did Mab. I- remember her a little, I think, but mostly not. I remember she wore glasses, always knew when someone was lying to her. Told me not to trust her sister Aradia and I never have. Told me not to follow Morgan the Fae and I won’t.

Traded rings for a name- and so Mama was called Morgan, and the Lady was called Maeve.

Most of what I remember about the old country- that’s what Daddy called it, the Old Country- is how frightened I was. I wasn’t allowed to go outside, and I didn’t want to neither. Daddy said that Mama snuck the Lady out of the Fair Isles, said that if the Lady had stayed she’d’a been killed by her Unborn Child. Said that the broken thing in all children who ain’t born was something worse than tongue tied or tone deaf. Said that Mama got me and him and herself out; said that Wiper’s folks were always friends of ours. Said I ought to marry Wiper one day, there weren’t no finer match.

The rebellion went like this, Daddy said: Lady Maeve’s three daughters were raised to rule. When she was assumed to be dead, her oldest woulda got the crown. But her youngest was jealous of both her older sisters; Titania and Mab. And so Aradia poisoned Titania and convinced Mab to kill her; and then Aradia ruined Mab after Mab Boudicca fixed the mess Titania had made of the country. Aradia threw Mab down into the sea and tore her name from history. Now, Aradia has the crown. She’s ruled over us for near-about two year's now. I’d never speak badly of the Queen.

Lookin’ through the public records- well, there’s quite a lot Daddy didn’t say, because there’s things you can’t tell children. It weren’t like that- but that’s the story. It’s all I’ll say on the matter- you want the truth? If you weren’t there, go find it for yourself.

 

The governor’s a different story. Well, no- the governor’s a milksop, no one’s seen him in about ten years. His son, Enel, is a different story. I don’t know why people from the Low Blues have been put in charge of a piece of Sky Blue- it don’t make sense. I would never speak badly of the Queen. Enel is a- No. I’d never speak badly of the Governor. No.

Enel likes to set things on fire, and he’s been blessed or cursed maybe with the bird of lightning. Has been as long as we’ve known him. He- marks people. With the lightning. Says that when he’s done it, they’re his then. Says I’m his then, like I’m to be his serving wife forever. Wrote a letter to Wiper, begged him to stay away. Said that so long as he lived, I could go on.

Wiper ain’t so bad; I’d be his but- and Enel would kill him. Enel is the governor’s son, and when the Governor turnt up dead a few months ago, Enel took up the post. I’d never speak badly of the Governor.

I’m his personal assistant and I assist in whatever he asks of me. My pet fox, Su, don’t like him much. But she can’t do much either, she’s just a little puffball; pregnant too, about to have her litter of kits. Can’t keep ‘em; ain’t no one left on the island really who can take em. Might have to snap their necks to keep Enel from-

Wiper can’t do much, he’s- even if he- Enel would kill him. Enel burnt my Daddy to ash and char, made me throw him into the sea when he knew that ain’t how we treat our dead- oh Daddy.

I would never speak badly of the Queen or the Governor. No sir. Yes sir. Thank you, sir. Say it with a smile. Yes sir. Yes sir.

 

The Rebellion of Upper Yard went like this- Wiper learnt from a passing crew of people- merchants, I suppose- how to make magnetized somethings- maybe how to keep skeels? And he made Upper Yard, up and across the bay, into somewhere Enel can’t see. The locals, the Shandians- they’re rightly Wiper’s folk. I- I ain’t. Wiper ‘n me- well, there might be no finer match. But Wiper’s chief of his people now, and I’m just a girl he knew in his childhood.

Point is, Enel can’t see into Upper Yard. And that’s where Wiper’s people are. Everyone knows it, of course- Enel sent several battalions of my people into the Upper Yard. They ain’t come back. Upper Yard’s the holy land because of Vearth- and I. I wish- I hope Wiper took care of mine. Aren’t many of us left on Angel Island; mostly servants what kept their heads down and empty, some old folks too withered to get up to much mischief- and me.

Enel- Enel’s all of a lightning snake in a man’s skin, he’s- No, I’d never speak badly of the Governor. And I ain’t never hated no one before. I couldn’t tell you what hate feels like. There’s no passion to my feelings for Enel, no- fire. It’s all ice. I’d never speak badly of the Governor.

 

One day, a midwife came, and with her, a new world.

  
  


The royal family of Fairisle has a tradition of naming their daughters after legends from Skua’s past; Boudicca was a revolutionary warchief who slaughtered the Giants that attacked our ancient island home, before we fled for the sky. It was Titania who mastered the secrets of Vearth and rose the moon cities into the sky- Fairy Vearth, we call the moons up here. Enel wants to go to them, thinks there’s treasure to be found on ‘em. That’s as may be, but they ain’t his by right. Aradia was a farseer, the one who mastered the dance of the stars- it is by her teachings Sky Blue is navigated at all.

And Mab is the midwife of dreams.

And all the blood-chiefs of Fairisle are of Sgathaich, who mastered the secrets of battle and war and slew the Deathless One.

 

I never felt good about what Enel made me do as his aid. I- I like meeting new people, I like making friends. He likes killing people. I’d never speak badly of the Governor. No sir. Yes sir. Thank you sir. It feels good sir. Yes sir, yes sir.

Enel took the Stormvault Garrison; said it’d be his own palace. Adorned the place with flimsy gold and Thunder Dials; manned it with his own beastly overseers. Made me throw out Mama’s ashes; said he’d not allow the worship of craven flesh. Said only his own godly flesh was worthy of worship. Never speak badly of the governor. No. Sir.

Garrison’s soldiers ain’t fools- the sergeants ain’t, at least. McKinley’s a good man, even if he ain’t who I’d’a left in charge. I suppose with the coming of Mab, I caught a little of her sea-salt madness; smelt the wind off the waves, saw her with her sea-blessed low northern beau and felt a scurl of desire in my heart. I wanted-  [ freedom ](https://youtu.be/ElJhoGzTnXU) . McKinley came to arrest the Strawhats, but I belayed that order; ain’t right what Enel done. Ain’t right what cowardice made me do.

No more.

No.

 

I think McKinley was waiting for me to give the order, honestly. Good man. I think- I’d never seen the Garrison’s soldiers smile like that when a noble made a declaration. Still.

 

What I said was “No, don’t arrest them. I’m fixin’ to kill God; if you want to arrest someone, arrest me.”

“No. We’ll be behind you all the way.” said McKinley.

And I smiled and said “Princess Mab.”

And the princess said “Yes, Warchief Conis?”

“I need you to make me a net-and-lash.”

“Oh. I cannot weave such a thing without rings for spinning.”

“Princess, I’ve your mother’s rings for you; will that suffice?”

“Aye. ‘twill suffice.”

 

McKinley and his squad had baskets full of live skeels. They’ve been waiting for me a long time.

I nodded to the soldiers, and went inside; anger had already begun to overflow my eyes, the characteristic black streaks pooling in the cleft beneath my eyes. That cold, black burn sliding down my cheeks; a black shining of my rage. There’s wet anger, and there’s dry anger- Wet anger, what makes you cry and your whole self soft, is what I’d had when Enel killed my Daddy, and wet anger was what I had to survive all through the years he ruled. But as I settled into my new role, all that was left was dry anger, hard eyes, hard body, hard heart.

No more of this.

 

I know what I’ll say to my people, about why I waited so long to kill Enel. Here, it’s said only the Blood of Sgathaich can bestow the power of Chiefs; and only the royal family of Fairisle still retains that ancient lineage. That’s what I’ll say. The truth is, I was too scared- and it was only when I saw the passionate embrace between the Princess and her beau that I knew it for falsity. 

 

A great buzzing beast carved through the air, carrying a legged pack; in it’s claws were grasped a plain broom-handle and a small white sack.

Princess Mab was explaining to her crewmates what she’d agreed to do, and why she had to do it.

She said “It’s religion, sort of. But. Um. I mean- there’s… There’s some things only I can do because of who my ancestors are. And there are- there are rules, and if Conis wants to continue living- here, she has to follow them. And- even if I’m not… I’m not a princess, really. But so long as my people ask for my help, I- I feel obligated to help them.”

“You don’t have to, Mab.”

“Aw, Conis-”

“No, really. You’ve been lookin’ after me since we was fledglings, you don’t have to. I’ve my father’s spurs; if it ain’t on with your captain and crew to aid me, I’ll find a way to get by.”

“Neh, you know Conis?”

“Oh- yeah, I babysat her all the time as a child. She’s the daughter of one of my Mother’s guardswomen I think…?”

“Yeah. Mama always did consider Queen Morgan to be a principal worth protecting. She was always so proud that we were friends; if things had been different, do you think... ”

“Mmhm. You’d have been Captain of my Guard if it’d all worked out like Mother wanted. You always had the tactical skills for it, strategy would have come with time. Still- of the two paths, I think the one you’re on might have been the more worthy one. There’s no one I can remember who would have protected her people so diligently in the face of certain agony- except Nami, of course. Ah, will she be alright?”

“Yeah- Wiper’s a good man, he won’t let harm come to her. Sorry for the subterfuge- Enel, of course, knows that the rebels are hiding in Upper Yard, but he can’t see in due to interference by skeel-waves. His Mantra isn’t powerful enough to see through the interference- and I’d wager yours isn’t either, Mab. You always did try to get around training that...”

“Pfft. Like you didn’t skip on Unguis Chela training.”

“Heh. You gonna call your girl up?”

“Mm. Yes, probably- *Brown to Orange, come in Orange.*”

“*Orange here. So, I’m guessing you guys figured out what Conis was lying about?*”

“*Sure did, Nami. There wouldn’t happen to be a man named Wiper there with you…?*”

“Heyso.” *Yep. He’s much nicer when he’s not operating on faulty information.*”

“*So attacking us was just…?* “WIPER!”

“I thought they were some of Enel’s goons, Conis.” *Yeah, apparently Enel’s been in cahoots with slavers from the Lower Blues- they haven’t exactly left these seas **_alive,_ ** but there’s definitely people here from- what was the island called again?* “Fishman Island, and Birka, miss Nami.”

“*Surely not the Birka that’s twin to the city on Fairy Vearth?*”

“The very same, Princess.” *So, yeah. Anyway, what’s happening over there?*”

“*Well, I’ll let Warchief Conis say it…* “I’m going to kill God.”

“HOT DAMN!” *So. Can she actually do it?*”

“*Oh yeah. Conis would have been the Captain of my Guard if there’d actually been time for that.* “Aw, Princess Mab. You’re gonna make me blush.” 

“*Anyway, chances are if we stick around we’ll be able to take a whole bunch of gold and such with us; it’s basically worthless up here.*”

“Not worthless, Miss. Just- not useful except in very specific applications.” *Oh $hit.*”

“*Thought you’d like that Nami.*”

“*You are so good to me. What exactly do you have to do?*”

“*I try, Nami. Mm, not much- help her secure a weapon-*” 

“It’s in the house, actually-” 

“*-help her get dressed, muster up a blessing maybe. Not all that much work. Also, Sanji’s an excellent kisser, you were right; I should have made a move ages ago.*”

“*I FUCKING TOLD YOU.*”

“*ANYWAY. I’ll see you in a bit. Later, bae.*”

“*Holla.*”

 

Wiper didn’t stop whooping and laughing for the rest of the conversation.

It’s good to see that Mab has good friends. I can almost see the appeal of having such a pale beau; his flush truly is enticing, as is the expressive contour of his face. Still- I’ve more important things to be concerned with at the moment. And Wiper waited for me.

Under the altar shelf, there sat a small chest; and in it were the fourteen spinning rings of my mother, and the fourteen spinning rings of Queen Morgan, and most important of all- my father’s own Clodspurs. I walked past the place where Gov’nor Enel burnt my Daddy ash-black; opened the chest, and handed the princess her mother’s rings. I put my mother’s rings on; sparkling rings of shining stones. Princess Mab put her mother’s rings on; delicately carved bones marked with fantastic beasts and pure focused intentions. I put my father's spurs on my boots. I'm Chief now. Time to act like it.

My mother had her rings of course- wearing them confers upon me the authority to act as the senior member of my house. But to be the Chief  _ and  _ kill God- I need a weapon for that. There’s only one weapon that would do for this day, and that’s Gae Assail.

 

Said to be a fine imposed on the children of Tuirill Piccreo, it was bound with the commands of “Ibar” and “Athibar”. When Enel killed his father, the first thing my father did was take the spear apart and hide it in the base of this house- the Princess’ Abode, the house of the Queens. It’s mighty Will would be hidden from Enel’s echoing gaze by the muffling cloudstones. While Mab explained to her crew why, exactly, things were happening this way- “Religion, mostly. Except it’s- the Low Blues corrupted it? Sky Blue is big, you guys.”- I dug into the soft cloud floor beneath the wooden decking of the living room and withdrew the ancient spear. Even in pieces, the spears Will is- ‘To Pierce’. There are weapons like that; ancient, powerful weapons with their own legends attached to them, each with a pure and unshakable will. It is said that the ancient Grass Blade of Wano Country has the Will ‘To Cut’ (and a female aspect) (and has either been lost or hidden itself until she deems a wielder worthy of her True Name); but Sky Blue always produces spears and polearms of such pedigree as to have the Will ‘To Pierce’.

I handed the ancient weapon to Princess Mab. She took it with the kind of gravity I expected. When she unwrapped the bundled weapon on the table, her eyes flashed and blazed with distemper. My father was a Dial Engineer; and though he trained with Alberich “Sooty” Ravelle, The Weaponer, he was no weaponsmith. Still-

 

“So. Who took this apart?”

“My father.”

“Hmmph. This spear is old. The shaft was from a farm tool- probably a rake, or a hoe; this blade is a field blade someone cut down to size. The problem isn’t the blade. Did he just pull it apart?”

“As far as I can remember, yes. That’s bad, right?”

“If he was here, I would beat the ever loving shit out of him, yes. He didn’t even- this blade doesn’t have- oh if he were alive I’d fuck him up. He screwed up all the rivets! Haaaaaaaargh!”

“...There’s a farriers not far from here. Should I show you there?”

She took a deep breath. 

“Yes. It should have what I need. Ah, Crabby- thank you. Stay with everyone, alright?”

“I’ll go with you.”

“Zoro? ...Alright.”

 

Watching a master at work; a true master, not some journeyman or apprentice, but a real master, is mesmerizing. Mab has a shock of white hair where Aradia shot her in the head, right at the back; she hasn’t healed fully from the wound yet. I suppose she must not remember everything- and in all honesty, she wouldn’t remember some things that I do simply because of perspective; still, until she remembers why she fought her sister, I don’t think she’ll heal. I can’t ask, of course- we aren’t that close, and I don’t know why she did.

Still. Even half ruined; even injured, even weakened from an obviously long convalescence; Portgas D. Mab Tailor of House Morgan is still a master Spearwoman. She was still raised and trained by Alberich “Sooty” Ravelle, The Weaponer, who made (will make?) Gae Bolg; she can still hammer as well as she can wield. My princess, Portgas D. Mab Tailor Morgan, the woman I would have followed...

As for the reason why her prowess with a spear was so undeniable- a simple matter of a matched pair of wills; her will is ‘To Pierce’ and every spear she’s ever wielded, from the simplest footman's pike to the ancient marvels of her house- all of them. All of them. Have had the Will ‘To Pierce’. It’s a credit to her innate kindness that she only ever pierced what she wanted to pierce.

When she was finished, the Spear sang to me.

 

While Mab  [ hummed ](https://youtu.be/agB0oO-U4nA?list=PL8Ht65rCdaD9B7ax762QW5DwztyU6X0mU) , she wove my hair into a crown; adorned me with fierce blossoms of heather; apple blossoms, azaleas, bells of ireland sharply green and glistening with dew, birdsfoot trefoil at my temples and cowslip above my forehead and protea tucked into the small curves of my braids. Slim spars of ivory-bone jut out in clear challenge.

Mab always could weave a fine net; her lash skills are unparalleled as well. She helped me dress, cleaned my ragged wings of broken and bent feathers, tucked my pants into my boots and struck my fierceness onto my face; the vicious snarling of birds and the slim lines of my mothers before me.

Upper Yard is only a few hours away; we leave Merry in the harbor of Angel Island; we took my father’s old boat,  _ Deliberate Murder _ to the Shandian encampment on Upper Yard. We came to be surrounded by flocks of trained skeels; and then Shandians. And there was Wiper, in his warrior’s mask and carrying his deadly flamethrower. At his side stood an orange haired woman, with a heavy bo-staff cradled in one arm.

 

The rest of that day blurs together- I remember Mab’s crown of straw, thistle and winged seeds. I remember speaking, though not of what nor to whom; and I remember challenging Enel.

Mostly, I remember the battle.

I remember that I won the first strike by breaking Enel’s nose, but Enel drove a serpent of light through my guts. I cried out, then Vanished into the air, Enel close behind. The battle grew fiercer after that- I broke more of Enel’s bones, snapped his leg and his ribs, dislocated his jaw and snarling shattered those things between his legs that made him scream with a high thin voice. Like a reed grown on the side of a river, it snapped. It gurgled, he gurgled- black claws ripped through his throat. But he turned all to lightning feathers, the coward.

Enel appeared whole-bodied in the blue, lightning crackling out of his torn throat and a ferocious scowl on his face. I was laughing. Enel sneered and somehow- somehow I knew.

Enel burnt my wings off. It’s the first thing he did- he melted the feathers into slag, scarred my hands with his snakes and made it so I couldn’t reach back and pull the feathers out without screaming. Every time I tried, he’d have his snakes bite me again- but.

There are some things you learn when your Mama was a Royal Guardswoman, even if she died when you were eight. And I wanted to remember Mama- so I practiced what she’d taught me, everyday. The point of the Royal Guard isn’t to protect the Royals, it’s to protect their households- their servants, their staff. Their children. To that end, they must be able to, at the very least, match the Royals in martial power. And Skuan Royals fight for their people- that’s the entire reason we have them at all.

 

I moved forwards, the old talons coming to hand with something approaching ease. When I struck forwards, Enel’s eye splattered out onto the sunwarmed decking. He screeched and crackled off again, but I knew. He’d broke the Promise of Duel- coming so close to the observers- the gods knew he’d never keep his agreement, what he swore to when we agreed to fight.

Which meant I didn’t have to hold back anymore.

There was a buzzing blur, and I flickered in front of and then behind Enel. I threw my spear then, called ‘Ibar’ then ‘Athibar’ and the spear struck true. 

And Enel fell.

He fell into the sea, blood splattering the windwaves, and I never did see him again.

The spear returned to my hands with the last echo of ‘Athibar’.

And I was free again.

 

Upon my victory, my crown changed into Birds of Paradise, stinging nettle, nasturtium, camellia, dandelion, fennel and mimosa. Found the pineapple what holds the Lightning Fate within it some days later; ate it, and now I am Chief and Queen of the White Sea. Goddess as my witness, I shall never be a slave again.

  
  
  


In other news, I had no idea people from the lower Blues were so susceptible to mushroom wines. I also didn’t realize the trick for using Chronos was reliant on being conferred a crown. Changing Mab’s crown into daffodils, lavender, fern, ambrosia, lime blossom, coriander, peach blossoms and pear blossoms wasn’t too hard- doubling it on her beau, Sanji, was a simple matter as well. You ought to be adorned for the task at hand, when you’re courting- or preparing to sign a marriage contract, at least.

 

The celebratory revelry spilled from Upper Yard to Angel Island; Shandians, Birkans, and my own Cherumibs danced, sang, and scattered barbequed meats everywhere. Mab’s captain ran around catching the meat and eating it; Zoro the Swordsman drank his weight in booze over the fourteen day’s celebration. 

I heard from Wiper that Nami was enjoying the beautification treatments the Birkans liked to indulge in- mineral water bathing, massage, the whole hedonistic enjoyment of the self. She also seemed to enjoy the mineral and ore baths, which are really more like massages of gemstones, gold and silver nuggets, and oil to facilitate comfort. A little morbid, but- some people like that sort of thing.

Robin the Archaeologist was escorted by McKinley’s men through the jungles of Upper Yard to explore the ancient palace of the Birkans who came from Fairy Vearth; she returned with a full crate of rubbings and notes.

On Songsday, there was a mass wedding thrown, as Satorday was taken up with contract negotiation and the signing thereof, which Sanji and Mab attended; I married my Wiper under the weeping willow branches. 

Mab and her Sanji were also wed, but I think they both were very drunk- still, I was kind enough to escort both of them to the Queen’s House before Wiper and I fled to the forests of Upper Yard. On that holy ground, we tasted the clean Vearth and the mud and each other and found each other anew. I have no idea what happened to Mab and Sanji. They’re definitely married though; on the tenth day, I cajoled both of them out of the Queen’s House for the specific purpose of adding the winding rings to their flesh and plying them with more libations. Spread that celebration around.

 

(Their marriage contract is the standard. I know it is, because we only had enough copies of the contract in the standard boilerplate style, as seen below.

 

_ I, ___________, hereby agree to follow the outlined provisions below as a way to secure my marriage to _________. By failing to meet the provisions listed below, this marriage is subject to termination. _

 

_ The provisions of which I have agreed to are as follows: _

 

  * __I shall always love ________. Having reached this point where we are engaged and on the precipice of marriage, I have already declared my love for ____ and must keep that love.__


  * _I will always protect ____ in terms of physical safety and financial stability, nor will I ever make ___ feel as though they are unsafe in our home._


  * _I vow to always talk out my issues with _____. This doesn't necessarily pertain to the issues we directly share with each other, but issues overall to help us both relieve stress and hash out the problems we face._


  * _No matter how difficult or melodramatic my relationship becomes with _____’s family members, I will do my best to make things work with them. If not possible, refer to provision 3._


  * _I acknowledge that ____’s career is as important as mine, and that we both have equal right to talk about what we’re doing in our work. If either of us look to move for a new opportunity, both I and ____ will talk it out, as expressed in provision 3._


  * _I vow above all else not to commit adultery or infidelity during my marriage to _____._



 

 

_ By signing below, I, ________, agree to the aforementioned provisions and to marry _____, giving my whole heart everyday for the rest of my life. _

 

_ PRINT: _______________ SIGNED _______________ SEALED ____ _____ ______  _

_ Witnessed:  _

_ Witnessed: _

 

I’m not sure what Mab did to convince the local Registrar to put her and Sanji down in the Book of Lives, but… their Marriage Contract is fully Sealed, and Filed. I’m not entirely sure how she got her hands on all of their Seals, er, insho; Formal included. I’m going to say Magic and leave it at that- there’s some things I’m content not to know.)

  
  
  


They ended up going with the traditional Fairytale two-feather wedding ring around both biceps; he got black with blue ink highlights; she got black with vermillion highlights. Considering one set of the two feathers (well, four counting both arms) had to be matching with their partner, it’s perhaps a credit to them both that they settled on stylized  [ feathers ](https://thumb9.shutterstock.com/display_pic_with_logo/3491729/316581866/stock-vector-zentangle-stylized-feather-black-white-hand-drawn-doodle-ethnic-patterned-vector-illustration-316581866.jpg) that wound around the outer surface of their arms. On the inner side, Sanji chose feathers that were like fish or waves or other things from the  [ sea ](http://image.shutterstock.com/z/stock-photo-hand-drawn-stylized-feathers-art-collection-set-of-doodle-tribal-feathers-cute-zentangle-feather-363689864.jpg) ; Mab chose dark feathers that crumbled into scattering  [ birds ](http://previews.123rf.com/images/molchunya/molchunya1201/molchunya120100028/12040706-Two-stylized-feathers-with-scattering-birds-in-the-form-of-a-tattoo-Stock-Vector.jpg) . (Wiper and I chose to respect his Shandian Heritage; rather than the pale red tattoos of the Cherumibs of Angel Island across the throat, we got striped black bands, One on the upper arm, and another around the wrists. Really, it’s the mirroring that’s important.)

 

The Revel us Skypieans threw will go down in history as perhaps the most warranted of any Revel thus far thrown; more warranted than the month long rager that heralded the completion of the twin Birka's. After all, it’s not every day Mab Midwife, the Future Pirate King’s Sewing Professional, comes to visit. I suppose for some jobs you really do need the professional touch. 

As for the Future Pirate King- well, he’s a long ways to go to get to The End of the Road. I believe in him though. Hell, when he came to our archipelago, we threw a fourteen-day Revel!


	11. Fun and Games

It would be a lie to say I ever expected to grow to love the one I married before I married them. Mostly, I expected to have a harem or a consort who would bear the burden of impregnating me. The contract I signed… one of the provisions is that I love my partner, my husband. I already do, a little bit- friendship is love, after all. I- oh dear. What the hell did I do last night?

 

_The tattoo burns on my arms. Thin black lines traced into my skin; the outer ones are the same as Sanji’s symbolizing our unity. The inner forms are our own; we’re still individuals, but united in a bond of matrimony. Signed, Sealed, Filed- and now for the fun part. Consummation._

_I still have lavender straws strewn through my hair; Sanji still smells of coriander flowers. We have laid together in a tangled congress in every room of the Queen’s House. We drink the celebratory libations, and I run laughing back into the cleaned and darkened rooms, the soft bedsheets and my Sanji, my husband follows- me- down-_

 

Uuugh. Oh, oh god- Hurrk! No, no, there’s nothing there- I tried to throw up but there’s nothing there. It’s the worst because your stomach will just _keep_ **_trying._ **

I’m- wearing socks? I’m wearing socks and my glasses and nothing else WHY AM I NAKED AND WHY IS SANJI ALSO NAKED HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT OW OW OW WHY OW FUCK CAN’T WALK CAN’T WALK- good god this might be the softest bed I’ve ever laid in- NO, SHIT, IT’S JUST CLOUD WITH A BLANKET OVER, OH GOD WHAT THE HELL-

No. Panic gets me nowhere- think! Logic this out.

Marriage contract on the bedside table. My name, his name; both of our Seal sets, mine and his. I remember his from his letters, Nortens choose theirs at a very young age and of course I… how in the fuck do I have mine? That’s going to- no, I remember now, they were in my pocket. I don’t know why Aradia didn’t take them but here we are. They should have broken when I was declared dead… unless I wasn’t declared dead? Hm. Well, I do have a bounty poster, meaning I can’t actually be dead, that would be pointless.

 

I- drank a lot of booze? I did. Okay. Ow.

Headache? No, it’s not my head that hurts it’s my- lower- Oooh.

Oooohkay.

I mean, it’s been two years, my sexing muscles just got a hell of a workout and… um. Sanji is still inside me, he’s still between my legs- he’s still passed out on top of me. We’re basically glued together with sweat and juices, and he smells… well, he always smells good.

Hm.

I’m in- a house? No, a bed- this is the Queen’s House- and I guess- I guess my world got rocked so hard I can’t walk now? Goddamn, I smell like sex- _soft skin against muscles like carved stone, warm and smooth and musky and the sharply pleasant sting of teeth; laughter against smoke-kissed lips-_ I smell like cigarettes and seafood and sex, ow ow ow. Lavender? I anointed myself with lavender? But that’s for getting married, why would I get married to anyone other than- Sanji? What.

Sanji?

Why am I in bed with- Ugh, we didn’t- did we-? We did. Okay. We’re also married. Okay. I mean, we were already betrothed so- not sure what else to do here. I mean, there’s a certain way these things go…?

Ooh, yes, we had sex at least twice, and we did not clean up after. So. Uh. I think I know whaa-aaait a second,  that’s a lot of blood? On Sanji? I. Hm. Might have bitten him too hard. There was definitely biting.

Possibly scratched, it’s been a while.

I washed my hair with lavender and committed to Sanji, the sting of my arms- I have. I have marriage tattoos now, and so does he-  These are really nice, actually, but they’ve bleed onto the sheets, blood and ink. That’s going to stain.

They’re nice tattoos, but what the fuck. Shouldn’t there have been- why. Why did we get married? I mean- betrothals usually don’t matter after both people involved are of age, shouldn’t- wait. He’s… He’s not twenty. I am, but he isn’t. I mean. **_Oh_ ** . Oh that’s _clever_.

I know why we’re married.

I know _exactly_ why we’re married.

I didn’t realize that I’d get to marry my childhood sweetheart, what with him being declared dead and all, but hot damn I’ll take it. I… I already loved him a little before he um. Before he died. And I’m technically dead now too. So uh- I guess we got married as ghosts? Which. Is actually pretty cool, now that I think about it...

I don’t actually mind being married. Sanji’s a good man, and of all the possible outcomes to a marriage, being with someone I like and can be friends with is perhaps one of the greater prizes. But. Um. I- I guess I didn’t realize Sanji would be receptive to such an arrangement? I. Marriage. Me? Um.

Oh my god what the fuck. Why did I think it would be a good idea to take my crew to a Sky Blue Revel?

Oh, oh it’s all coming back now. Oh god.

 

So coming down off a real fight in Sky Blue- if you’re of rank, like Conis is now- really leads to one thing. And that’s a Revel. In Skua, revel isn’t just a verb, it’s a noun- and it’s an ancient noun, extensive and very popular for the various holidays and such. We drink, get married, fornicate with intent- eat lots of food, and just party. The shortest a Revel can last is seven days.

My crew, having never been to a Skuan Revel, decided to stick around. Oh god. I mean. I should probably go find the others? But- I’m. Sanji is still in me and hard as a **rock-** _hot line of flesh against my thigh_ and I’m being flipped over onto my ba- _aaaaaaaaaaah_ and his eyes are very blue and creased _that smile gets me every time_ and he’s very cute when he smiles and everything is sharp bright and I want I want I want _SANJI_ maybe I can definitely find them later they’ll be finnngh-

 

_-hot hot hot hot touching me inside he’s so- hot- long- thick- if god made the sKY the devil made the wIND if god made foOD the devil made SPICE sanji sanji sanji sanji his hands are calloused and strong and touching me don’t stop touching me please please touch me everywhere please I want I want I want-_

_Him-_

_Please please please please-_

_He pulls me up and wraps my arms around his neck, pulls my thighs over his and sets a punishing pace for me to ride and I scrEAM- he digs his fingers into my shoulders, my wings, my ragged edges and the world turns to starlight and squelching-_

_Hot stroke of mouth up my neck the soft wail no no I shouldn’t scratch him so hard no no don’t cut him up he’s ah so good ah ah ah ah ah AH AH AH AAAAAAAAAAAHaaaAAAAAAAAAH♥ I I want I want aaaaaah- so good! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!_

  
  


So. Uh. This revel’s going to go for something like seven days? Or- no, wait, it’s been going for seven days. So. Uh. It doesn’t sound like it’s going to end any time soon. Which. I mean. Usually we only paaaaaaaargh- party, we only party like that when it’s Midsummer or Midwinter, we don’t really just- do that. In Skua. So uh. I’m sure there’s some kinda party? I mean, I remember eating food, and drinking, and using the bathroom- but mostly I remember Sanji’s massive and intense stamina. So much stamina.

 

Like, holy fuck. _(So big!)_

Holy fuck. _(So warm!)_

Holy fucking fuck. _(So thick!)_

 

The man has no limits. Also apparently my libido and stamina are just as unreasonably high? Like, we’d go from zero to SEXTY in like, five seconds. There was definitely cuddling, and apparently the sandalwood smell is really just what it smells like when he sweats which is a bit alarming. Um. I kinda want to- I mean. If he wants to go again, I’d be delighted tooooo-okay he’s- _aaaaaah!_ \- We’re leaning back up against the headboard and my back is to his chest and he’s putting his hand between- between- against, cupping my _aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah_ \- buuuuaaaaaagh we’re heading back towards sexty, hot damn, well I mean, how can I resissssssssaaaaaaaaagh-

 

_-aaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH♥- TOO MUCH TOO MUCH OH OH OH OH SO BIIIIIIIIIG-_

 

Um. I. I was kinda wordlessly screaming there for- for I don’t know how long.

“You’re very loud.”

“Um. Yes. Did- did you mean to marry me?”

“Yes. We’ve been betrothed for years, and what with the mass weddings taking place I just thought maybe we could- I didn’t. I never expected to actually meet you, and yet-”

“Ah. O-okay. Um- is, is this the thing we’re doing now? Using sex to avoid talking about issues we may be having with each other? Or in our lives, maybe?”

“Um. Yes. I-”

“Oh. I mean- I won’t say no to sex if you want to but um, I think maybe we should talk. At least, a little bit, if that’s okay?”

“S-sure.”

“So um. I- Chopper gives all the ladies, um, our preference for birth control. I’m on the shot form, just stab and go, so, um, I’m protected for the next half year- um, we should talk about if I should stop taking it. Um, and also- I, I think I’ve been a bit in love with the idea of you for most of my life, maybe? And now that I’ve actually met you- I. I’m really glad I married you. To marry you. I’m. I’m glad it’s you. Um. I. I think I have feelings for you.”

“I. Um. I don’t- I don’t think I’m ready for kids, right now. But, um, I think I have feelings for you, too. Um. Is that all you had to say?”

“Yeah.”

“Really?”

“Sanji, we were pen pals for years. I can read between the lines. I get it.”

“Oh. I- oh! ...Do you want to make out?”

“Hell fucking yes.”

 

(And then we made out and had wild monkey sex until the sun set again. I would later realize that the feelings I have for Sanji could almost certainly be classified as friendship feelings, but I’m not entirely sure lust is a friendship feeling so… maybe it’s a good thing we got formally married in Skypiea? I don’t know, I was a little busy enjoying the moment to really think about why it was happening. Excepting the obvious reasons, of course. Sanji’s relatives are pieces of shit, excepting his mother, who is dead. It’s going to be so much fun, screwing their plans for him over.

Who knows? We might even grow to love each other. We might even grow to be _in_ love with each other.)

  


The party eventually officially stops- or is encouraged to stop, there are plenty of people who aren’t going to stop until like, next year at the earliest- by the ringing of a massive, beautiful bell about a week later. Oh gosh everything below the waist is sore. Not my legs, just- all the. Stuff. Walking’s a little troublesome.

Damn that was fun.

 

“Yeah. Uh. Did-”

“I had the best time I’ve had at a party in years, Sanji. Um. You’re very- talented. And… nicely proportioned.”

“Mm? Ah, you’re v-very flexible, and open to new… new experiences.”

“Mm. Ah- W-we, uh, we don’t have to be at a party to do that again? I mean. I wouldn’t mind-?”

“Mmhm.” Sanji is lobster red but smiling. “I’d like that, I think, but- maybe. Later?”

“Um. We could talk about it?”

“Sure, sure.”

 

Yeah. Best damn revel in years. Got to have a good time with a sexy blonde, relaxed, got my mother’s spin rings, and made a girl I used to babysit a crown. Damn fine party. Got married! Married to my childhood crush, even. Hell of a party.

 

The bell rang and kept ringing until we dropped below the clouds into the sundrenched blue below. A helpful octopus saved us from certain death.

Nami is sleeping on the gold in our hold, a massive pillar of it. I threw a blanket over her so she wouldn’t catch a chill, and gave her a pillow too. She falls asleep in weird places sometimes and I worry about her spine.

Holy crap I got married to my childhood betrothal buddy. I- I saved every letter he wrote me. We sent each other drawings of things we saw; he told me about a turtle he saved by cooking for it. And then his letters stopped, and I never heard from him again.

I was a little bit in love with the boy who wrote to me so long ago- I’ve grown more than a bit in love with the man I met those months ago at the Twin Capes. I suppose I committed to having Puck out of a sense of duty- and yet- Aradia. If there was a shortage of saffron- which there couldn’t have been- why did Aradia push so hard for there to be a future security for the Fairisle throne?

Aradia, what have you done?

  
  


It’s strange- I guess I thought I’d be very different after getting married, but mostly I feel… the same. I guess? I- hmm.

We got lots of dials from Conis’ Cherumibs; they gave us a huge selection of every kind of dial they had on hand, and mailing catalogues (with albatross whistle included) in case we wanted more. Usopp and I have them.

I spun cloudsilk for the first time in almost two years. It’s soft and thin- shimmering in the light. Tiny lamp dials and manipulations of my black claws creates slight heat differentials for delicate color differences in skeins of cloudsilk. I have to respin them twice; first with a simple pole and the action of rolling it back up my outstretched leg; the second spinning requires a jet dial and a bit of a rig. All this is for the simple purpose of getting a thin, thin thread. Still, it’s some of the most relaxing work I can do- some of the only work I can do and spend time with others.

So I’ve been spinning with Sanji. I say that but what I’ve actually been doing is spinning at the dining room table from five in the morning to breakfast time, eating, washing the dishes, and then sparring with Sanji.

Sanji wakes up every day at four thirty. He cooks so much food daily- he actually starts various dishes for each meal at the start of the day, and begins prep work for the various snacks he feeds crewmates about half an hour after he gets up for the day at five; Sanji works hard.

After we left the Old Sky Blue, I started having- weird wake up moments? Like, I usually have first or second watch; after we left the Old Sky Blue, I started taking first watch. When I would go to bed, I would always feel a little weird; like something was missing. I started staying up later, sitting in the galley and thinking of sewing patterns. About a week out from Skypiea, I had a nasty nightmare- it was really a memory. I kind of wish I hadn’t remembered it at all- falling down the stairs is one thing, but waking with a gasp because of the sudden memory of sharp, terrible pain- I could have lived without that.

This time, instead of going to the ship’s garden like usual- because I didn’t wake up Nami this time, so… I went to Sanji. It was about midnight, which is when he goes to bed; the men’s quarters were dark. Smells like boy funk- dirty socks, sweat, and dried organic gunk.

I’ll have to wash their hammocks, wiping them down might not be enough. Darker in here; soft wheezes from Chopper. Sanji’s in his bunk, loose pants, oversized shirt. I’m in a new shirt that’s suitable for use as a skinsuit or as a sleeping shirt; slippery cloudsilk in a satin weave all in brown, loose pants down to the ankles. My slippers go over the toes, closed toe shoes. They’re basically socks? I don’t know. The soles are thicker and heavily padded.

Sanji made a sort of- squeaking sound? When I got into bed with him. I laid awake next to him for about two hours, which is when I usually get up- but this time I just went back to sleep. I woke up again when Sanji got up for his day. He took his arms from around me, which is what woke me up.

I got up too.

 

Sanji makes for a good cuddle buddy.

“You’re not so bad yourself, Mab.”

“Oh, did I say that aloud? I should put my speak-lace on, I-”

“Mm. I don’t mind listening to everything you say. You have a nice voice.”

“Sanji!”

“You do! ...and you don’t have to change your whole schedule to match mine.”

“I like spending time with you though? And, um. I can’t actually spin in an empty room- I overthink it and the thread comes out all lumpy. Also, it’s not like our schedules were actually that different- I went to bed at ten and got up again at two, that’s not-”

“Oh. Um- are you really going to wash all the linens in the dorms?”

“Yeah, why?”

“...Save Usopp’s for last, okay?”

“Okay…? What, does he keep gunpowder in his sheets or something?”

“Just- save his for last.”

“Okay…? I already know his sheets are filthiest, but thanks for warning me. I was thinking of making something with this new thread- do you want any fancy pocket squares or ties maybe?”

“I’d love anything you choose to make me.”

 

I give him a Look.

 

“Okay, fine. I’d like some new ties, honestly. I don’t really use pocket squares; handkerchiefs would be nice though.”

“Okay.”

 

The days roll on.

  


I make switchel; half a gallon of clean water, half a cup of wax-free honey- quarter cup of lime juice, and a heaping tablespoon of minced ginger. When I came back to the kitchen and found that Sanji had drunk fully half of it, I made a much larger batch. I also give him a kiss which nearly evolves into a full on makeout session; unfortunately, I do have laundry to attend to.

I beat the filth out of all the linens, not just the men’s. Nami keeps beri tucked into her pillow, which is weird. Zoro doesn’t bathe daily, but he does rinse off daily. Luffy drools. The less said about Usopp’s sheets the better; puberty is hitting him hard. Chopper gets fur everywhere. Also, I hadn’t realized that Robin has been sleeping on the couch. So Robin’s getting my hammock… Maybe if I make a larger one for Sanji and I to share…? Yeah. That should be okay.

Sanji has the cleanest sheets, even if they do smell kinda grungy. Like, old kitchen smell and sandalwood soap. He scrubs daily with sandalwood soap, that’s why he sweats that smell. Ground in stink of cigarettes and seafood. I do not sit with Sanji’s dirty laundry and just breath in the stank that’s unsanitary and weird and I most certainly do not masturbate to his stank. I don’t do that.

I don’t do that anymore, because that’s gross and also I have a live and very enthusiastic Sanji who likes to do that for me. He has very long fingers. Long strong fingers. Mmm. Sanji fingers. I mean- listen, he only caught me masturbating to his stench like, four or five times before I noticed and then lunch was very late and we had to establish ground rules. We’re still negotiating exactly how many or few rounds of sex daily we want to try for, but- well, I think the only way to know for sure is to try out the schedule, dammit. How are we supposed to know how many is too many until we go too many rounds in the day?

Honestly.

  


What was I doing again?

Beating canvas. Right.

You know, it might be nice to have a small farm or kitchen garden; a dovecote, an extensive herb and vegetable garden, more fruit trees. Merry can’t do it. Merry’s a small little caravel, she can barely handle- let’s see, me, nami robin- that’s three- Captain zoro sanji usopp chopper- that’s five; eight. Merry’s getting cramped with eight people, and Captain’s going to end up with something like ten or twelve.

Thwack! This is a good paddle, I like it. We resupplied in Skypiea; food aplenty, lots of root vegetables and special Sky Blue herbs. I’m a little concerned about some missing cloth from the sewing room.

This is hard work. Glad I started making switchel. Zoro likes his with a tot of rum in it.

And I was right- clean bedding _and_ hammocks makes the men’s dorm smell- not necessarily like the women’s dorm, but definitely less overpoweringly of boystank. Just less stank overall. I don’t quite go as far as say, perfumigating things with various floral scents- but that’s because men might prefer pine or fruit scented things maybe? Mint?

 

Do guys prefer mint smell to flower smell?

“It depends on the guy Mab. I like your flower-smell.”

“You like my butt too, Sanji, you’re not a good judge.”

“I think I’m a great judge.”

“Hmmph.”

“Also, is this hammock bigger?”

“Yeah, I upped the size by one. Singles are nice, but not with friends.”

“Fair. So what, is this a double?”

“Yeah. Hmm. Should I move my shit in here, maybe? Women’s dorms aren’t really meant for more than two people.”

“...Merry’s small, huh.”

“Yeah. Merry’s small.”

“...We need a new ship, don’t we?”

“...I. I mean. She’s a caravel from the East Blue. More importantly, her keel’s cracking. There’s no rule that says a ship from anywhere can’t go anywhere, but, well- the ship’s keel is their spine. If it cracks all the way, that’s it. And Merry’s not like the rest of the crew, she’s- her body is inanimate. So long as we find a good shipwright, there’s a chance for us to take her to The End. Otherwise-”

“-Saffron. Is that all that’s left that you need?”

“Uh. Well, it needs to be made into royal jelly, but- yeah, it should be.”

“I have the saffron you need, I just. It’s. Expensive.”

“...you do realize that’s intentional right? It’s like diamonds.”

“Eh?”

“Diamonds are only rare because of an agreement between diamond sellers and diamond suppliers. You can dig those things up when you’re digging a well.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“So, what, saffron just grows out of the ground or something?”

“Yeah. It’s from the saffron crocus- the stamens. You didn’t know?”

“Haha. No, I didn’t. Really, just flower stamens?”

“Yep.”

“...I have a shelf in the chest in the corner; all the guys have storage in it. I keep mostly shirts and underwear on my shelf. I can refold some things?”

“I can basketweave too, I’ll make some boxes maybe? I don’t actually have all that much stuff, and what I do have folds up really small.”

“Sounds like a plan. Uahg.”

“Yaaawp.”

“G’night.”

“Night night.”

 

We talk really softly every night. It’s nice.

I’m tucked into him like it’s cold; we lay side by side, my head pillowed on his shoulder, my cheekbone resting softly against his cheek. His heartbeat is slow; his body is very muscular. Like cuddling up to a warm, breathing hunk of exotic hardwood with the added bonus of being cuddled back. There’s a squeaking noise, like, behind the laundry basket? The dirty one, not the clean ones in my sewing room. What the hell is that?

It’s nice to sleep next to someone who’s warm and breathing; nice to listen to their heartbeat and know I’m not alone. I don’t have very many nightmares now- mostly when I snap awake, it’s because he’s having a nightmare. When Sanji has a nightmare, his whole body tenses up beside my own. He doesn’t toss or turn, doesn’t thrash like I do- he shivers. There’s a sort of whimper that builds up in his throat, like some small animal freaking out inside of him. I’m always brought out into groggy not-quite awakeness when he tenses up. Usually, the nightmare is pretty mild; he’ll tense up, shake, then relax by degrees. Some other nights, he does not relax- he whimpers. Finally, one night, I can’t listen to him whimper anymore. I [ hum ](https://youtu.be/1e4QIGKaq7M) for him. When a Fairy sings- specifically Selkies, but it all comes from somewhere and goes more or less to the same place- they call up all the spirits of the surrounding Land, Sea, and Sky. However, I’m just humming, so at most it makes pain easier to bear and grim tides a little more palatable.

He sort of- when I started humming, he didn’t react much. Maybe a little listening twitch? As I went on, his whole body relaxed with a sigh. I try not to hum loud enough to be heard beyond the canvas walls of our bed; I’m. I’m not a musician and I will not sing just because. That’s- that’s not what any of the songs I know are for. The other songs I know are ‘Binks Sake’ or purely instrumental. I’m- not a musician. But music has a power, and for Sanji- we’re married.

I’m his wife. I’m going to support him- protect him.

If that means I hum for him so he doesn’t have to face nightmares alone, then- then I’ll hum for him. He holds me every night. He lets me sit with him quietly, and he doesn’t- I. I love him? Like, I love the little stupid things, even. Like, okay- on his left foot especially, none of his toes are actually completely straight. My guy has some fucked up little piggies. But somehow- somehow they’re the most beautiful little porkers I’ve ever seen on a foot, even little crow-toe next to the biggun on righty. His leg hair is really curly and brown, sort of a brownish blonde- there’s a word for that color, not amber, amber is too yellow. Dirty blonde maybe. Anyway, his legs basically have- okay, you know that one blanket in your closet that looks like it’ll be really fucking warm, right, and it’s probably blue or some shit, and it is really fucking warm, right. But it’s so itchy you’re basically scratching your skin off your bones every time you get that fucker out. You think it’ll be nice this time. You think it won’t fuck you over.

It will.

It fucks you every time.

Lousy scratchy blanket piece of shit. And, of course, it’s the one your Dana Elphe breaks out every time you come over for the night because she keeps the house really cold and she doesn’t want you to catch pneumonia in the butt, how do you get pneumonia in the butt it’s a chest infection- ow. Ow. His leg hair is like shards of glass, I swear to god- itchy, itchy glass. Ffffucking- but I still love it? Like. It’s kinda- oh, oh god it’s scratching right through the pants, oh god- but. I. I kinda dig it?

 

This is weird, I’m weird for liking this.

“You smell like an old lady. Like. Laundry soap and flowers together- you smell like a grandma.”

“You’re going to draw blood from my legs with your deadly sharp leg hair.”

“You say literally everything you think when you’re not wearing your creepy bug necklace.”

“You barely say what you think at all, and you think my bugs are frightening due to trauma. But I don’t like molasses for probably the same reason-”

“Wait, what?”

“I don’t like molasses? Kind of hate it, actually. Did I not tell you this story?”

“...No, you didn’t.”

“Ah. Um. Well, okay, back home in Faeland there’s a distilling company called Purity and they’d built a [ big molasses tank ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Great_Molasses_Flood) on the northwest side of the Green. This was roundabout 1512 or so, and- anyway, the tank was really hastily built, just not done right at all. Their plant for turning molasses into ammunition was across the river, so it was really just a holding tank, but… the market for ammunition fell. It fell hard.”

“Oh no.”

“So people noticed that there were problems with the tank- it was in a crowded neighborhood, the neighbors complained about it all the time- the tank was fuckin’ leaking molasses, right? Well, they don’t fix it, they just paint it brown.”

“Oh _no_.”

“Oh **_yes_ **. So on the 15th of January, a big batch of warm molasses is added to the cold stuff already there, and this big reaction gets set off.”

Sanji’s hold on me gets a bit more protective. Tighter.

“Around noon, the whole thing explodes, right? And so- I remember the sound, like machine gun fire; it was the rivets, right? And the steel plates of the tank destroyed the bridge and the ferry station, and then this fifteen foot wave of goo comes down the street. It actually caught my schoolbag, which I had to let go of- and that snapped one of my wings, bottom lefty, right near the joint. Very painful. So I rode out the flood on the roof of a cotton house, I think? Anyway, it fucked up the harbor for about six years, and on hot days the whole city will still smell like molasses. Killed like, thirty people; and injured hundreds of lionbirds, which had to be euthanized because we couldn’t get them out of the molasses in a timely manner. Just. Ugh.”

“Oh. Oh my god.”

“So, yeah, anyway I don’t like molasses now? I barely tolerate rum.”

“I… when I was young, my father put me in an iron mask and locked me in the castle dungeon. For six months, maybe, the mask was only removed when I was fed by the guards. The dungeons weren’t- clean. I could kick away the rats, but the bugs- they. I don’t like bugs. I really hate bugs. I’m- it’s a big important part of you and I can hardly stand them.”

“Hmm. [ HmmhmmhmmmmmmmMmmhm... ](https://youtu.be/851ADacrerQ)”

“Humming for me again?”

 

I nod. I’m so angry for that tiny Sanji, tears are running down my face. Hot Wet Anger.

He used to **_love_ ** bugs.

This song does have lyrics, but I don’t need them right now.

 

“I’m okay. Now, I mean. I’m okay now.”

 

I nod again. I don’t trust myself with words. I would have saved that tiny Sanji. Somehow. I wouldn’t have left him in the darkness with some bullshite on his head and rats and bugs and nothing for company, food brought to him like he’s a prisoner- I. I hum harder. I slowly let the anger go. I can’t actually do anything for that tiny Sanji. He’s not there anymore. He’s okay.

I’m pressing my face into his neck and shoulder, pressing kisses into the side of his throat. Up following the sharp corner of his jaw, nuzzling against the scruff of his chin. Press my forehead to his. Press my lips to his. Swallow.

Scrunch my eyes shut and draw back just enough to murmur to him.

 

“I saved every letter you wrote me. In- in a box made of ash and elder. I kept them with lavender straws and rosemary branches, and all the little seashells, and the- the wings of bugs you sent too. My dorm burned down and I lost them, but I- I was **_so sad_ ** when your letters stopped. No one would tell me why I couldn’t keep writing to you. I- I would have come for you. I’d have-”

“You’d have flown across the sea on a broken wing? To save a boy you’d never met, from a place you’d never been-”

“Yes. I loved him. I love you.”

“What, apart from the smoking and the drinking and the terrible family and the perversion-”

“No, I love you exactly as you are. It’s. Weird.”

“...Really?”

“Yeah, I even love the stupid awful things about you.”

“...Like what?”

“You’re boney as shit, my guy.”

“Boney-?”

“Like, you have knifebone hips. They just- stab.”

“What, like this?”

“Hmmmph♥! No, haaah, like, I’ll wake up sometimes and just- stab, right through my uterus.”

“Pff. Uterus.”

“I can say testicles too, I’m crazy like that.”

“Pfffffffffft. ...I... I won’t lie and say I love you yet. But I could, I think. I think I could love you.”

“Mm. I’m glad.”

 

“-mab?”

“...sanji?...”

“...but _why_ do you love me?”

“...to love is to love- there is no reason for loving…”

“...but why _me?…_ ”

“...sanji... go the fuck to sleep...”

“...kay...”

 

And we slept together, chaste and wrung out- right about until the cloudfox kits started yipping at four thirty in the morning and SON OF A BITCH. SU. SU IS ON OUR SHIP. MOTHERFUCKER.

SHE HAD BABIES ON MY GOOD SILK. GODDAMNIT. THAT STAIN IS NEVER COMING OUT. SON OF A FUCKING MOTHERFUCKER.

Oh, aren’t they precious, look at those little fluffy assholes. So cute.

 

So a cloudfox is about the size of a cat, and like cats they’re obligate carnivores. They look a bit like fennec foxes around the ears and have fur like arctic foxes do during the winter- but wispier and year-round. Like, if a ball of angora yarn became a live animal, that’s what it’s like to pet a cloudfox. These are just about old enough to start being handled without Momma Su getting twitch-bitey.

Goddammit you guys have to tell me shit like this- I’ve raised cloudfoxes before, there are things you have to do to keep the kits safe goddamnit. Okay. I can weave a basket for her, high sides- maybe just give her one of the laundry baskets. I’ve gotta write a letter to Conis too, she might be freaking out. Ugh, why did they- why did they fucking grab my bolt of white satin, motherfucker, you should have used a fucking towel. I mean, it’s only about two yards, so it’s not as bad as it could have been, just... You have to change the bedding every week anyway, goddamnit. Am I the only one who had pets? Fuck, do they have fleas or lice- fucking- uuugh. They’re all _grimey_. Fucking. Towels, towels, where are the towels- just throw the laundry out onto the floor, son of a- they do. Of course they do have fleas, why wouldn’t they.

At least they managed to nurse- I can only actually get the fleas off of Su, they’re too enamored of the kits. Crap.

 

“Sanji, kick Chopper awake.”

“Oh? Oh. Is that- son of a-”

 

Chopper hits the deck with a thump.

 

“So. You’re going to check them for worms. I’m going to wash them with the dish soap, and change the bedding. When the others wake up, we’re gonna have a talk. This is not okay.”

 

And then I gather up Su and her five babies and the ruined silk lining fabric walk out. Motherfucking.

  


So washing cloudfox kits is about the most terrible thing you can do to the little puffballs; they’re kitten sized animals with sails for ears and more fur than actual body weight. Like half their size is just air. Getting one sopping wet and soapy reveals it to be a teeny tiny little nipper. Zoro’s still awake.

 

“Ah. You found ‘em.”

“Mhm.”

“...Sorry.”

“Good. Grab a towel and help me dry ‘em off. It’s fine if you pass out, they just need to be kept warm.”

“Okay.”

 

Which is how the picture of Zoro with a bundle of spikey lookin’ cloudfox kits wrapped in a fluffy towel on his chest got stuck into the logbook. That one’s a keeper.

 

Sanji rinsed them. Chopper seemed both sleepy and contrite.

 

“Sorry.”

“Hmph. Good. Check them for worms, then. Did they nurse from Su the first day?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. D’you know why they’re here and not back on Skypiea?”

“Conis gave one of Su’s kits to you, and Su decided to go on an adventure. Um.”

“...Hell’s bells.”

“Sorry.”

“Hmmph. So, was it Usopp or Captain that grabbed the satin from my sewing room?”

“...”

“I’m going to find out either way, Young Buck.”

“Captain did it.”

“Okay. Next time something like this comes up, just grab a towel. That’s literally what they’re for. Also, the bedding should be changed weekly; when the kits are dry and puffy again on Zoro, we’ll put them back with Su in the laundry basket. Also, you guys don’t have a laundry basket right now. How long ago were they born?”

“Um. Two weeks?”

“Okay. So they can be handled at any age; this group might turn out a little more independent because I’m guessing you treated them like puppies?”

“Uh. Yeah.”

“Uh huh. Did you sex them at least?”

“Uhn. Three girls, two boys.”

“Hmmph.”

“...I’m really sorry Tailor.”

“I’m not mad, I’m disappointed. Mostly that you didn’t ask to use the satin, I would have told you to use a towel. It’s warmer for them.”

“Sorry...”

“I won’t say it’s fine, because it isn’t fine. This was the kind of dumb that results in dead people down the Line. Don’t do this again.”

“...okay.”

 

Kits are cleaned and warming up with a passed out Zoro. They make little squeaking noises as they settle in next to his warm bulk. I shove a folded up towel beneath Zoro’s head and flip a dry towel over them all. The kits settle down pretty quick; Zoro cracks open an eye and half smiles.

I snort at him.

I scrub Su next, her puffy fur squishing under my soapy fingers. No fleas on anyone, now. I’m going to soak the satin, goddammit fucking- just. Rrrgh. No, talk to Captain. Oh, I need to make more laundry detergent too, hm.

 

I wonder if I should make scented laundry salts for the guys? Or use something for everyone?

Hmm.

“I’d prefer scented laundry soap if possible, actually. So what’s this?”

“Hey Nami. The guys snuck Su aboard, who promptly had her kits. Three girls, two boys, all healthy- now that the fleas are off of them, anyway. So anyway, do you have a preference for scents on your linens? Also, I’m moving to the guy’s side.”

“Okay. First, I’m glad Su and her kits are okay, but for fuck’s sake.”

“I know, right?”

“Second, I like citrus scented things, but I know that’s a really weak scent-”

“I can do it, but it’ll only really smell good for like an hour after I change everything.”

“I can live with that. Thirdly, why...?”

“Two things- one, I sleep better next to my husband. Two, Robin doesn’t have a bed.”

“She sleeps on the couch though...?”

“The couch is not a bed.”

“..Fair. So, how are we feeding the foxes?”

“I’ve got some extra bugs. They’re obligate carnivores, but it shouldn’t be too bad.”

“I’ve got some eggs they can have too, if that’s okay?”

“That’s fine Sanji, thank you. And it’s actually pretty easy to just fish, what with all the live bait we have-”

“Wait, wait, wait- you’re married? To one of **_our_ ** guys? When did that happen?”

“Um. Yes? I married Sanji, of course, and we all went to the same Revel not a week past, I don’t know what mass marriage ceremony you went to-”

“I had wondered. Mm, is that why you and Mr. Cook have matching tattoos on your arms?”

“Ah, Robin. Yes, exactly. Thoughts on the bed and linen situation?”

“I have no real preference for scents; and if you’re really going to move in with the guys, I’ll take your bed.”

“YOU MARRIED SANJI?”

“Yes? I mean, I do love him?”

“WHAT THE FUCK? WHY WOULD YOU MARRY HIM?”

“Because I love him? And also, we were betrothed as children; getting married now will really freak out his family. They’re all assholes, it’ll be great.”

“Mab!”

“It will and they are and you know it!”

“I do, but- I didn’t realize you did too!”

 

Nami has sat across from Zoro, wide eyed with a weird sort of horror. I think, I can’t really see the fine details at the moment. Zoro has propped his head up in his hand, a cloudfox kit chirruping under his chin. He’s grinning. Su’s dried off enough now that she’s nice to pet again. I plop her into Nami’s lap; Robin has settled down next to Zoro at the table. She’s petting one of the cloudfox kits gently. She’s also grinning, but she usually is.

 

“Pet the cloudfox, Nami.”

“...okay...”

 

Nami can be a little silly sometimes. I’ll use baking soda and lavender in the salts and reserve the scented results for stuff I’m putting into storage. Yeah, that’ll be nice. Oh, before I forget-

 

“Chopper, can you make some moisturizing lotion for Sanji and me? These tattoos itch like a motherfucker.”

“Oh! Yeah, sure- do you need a gentle soap too?”

“That would be nice. Sanji, do you want long or short sleeping gloves?”

“Mab?”

“You scratch in your sleep, my dude.”

“Bullshit.”

“My hands to god.”

“...Really?”

“Yep.”

“...Um, how long is long?”

“Mid-forearm is long, wrist is short. I’m making short ones for myself.”

“Hm. Long I guess? If I want shorter, you can just shorten them, right?”

“Sure. I’ll take measurements after you do the day’s prep, around your second smoke break.”

“Cool. You doing more spinning today?”

“Mm, I’m actually doing the math for tie patterns.”

“...there’s math?”

 

I look very pointedly at his measuring tools, then give him a Look.

 

“...Sorry.”

“Mmmhmm. Anyway, is there a kind of print you want, tie style…?”

“I like my ties a bit thin, and I’m actually partial to paisley.”

 

I Look at him.

 

“...This is about the pink and magenta shirt, isn’t it.”

“You could at the very least listen to why I don’t like it.”

“Fine. What, exactly, is wrong with my shirt?”

“Okay. You can wear pink, and you can wear magenta- but not those shades of either color. Those particular shades simultaneously wash your skin out, make your face look flushed, turn your haircolor into an unflattering shade of brown, and make your eyes look steel grey when in fact they are the sapphire of tropical ocean waves.”

“...sapphire of tropical ocean waves?”

“Did I mother **fucking** stutter?”

“Pfft. ...okay, so. Could you make me a better version of the shirt?”

“Yes.”

“Hm. Fine. You can even make the paisley something that isn’t direct from tourist hell if you want-”

“-you say that like I wasn’t gonna anyway-”

“-true, so. Uh- grab some more honey for me?”

“Sure. Switchel’s good, right?”

“It really is. Kiss?”

“Kiss kiss.”

 

And then I lay one one him. Mmm, Sanji kisses. Muh muh muh. They’re just like potato fries or potato crisps, I could take just one but fuck that noise I want like three. -Honey. I was getting honey. I should probably get dressed for the day, too. Dum dee dee.

 

“Keep petting the cloudfox Nami.” I said.

“...oh my god...” said Nami, weakly.

“-yeah they’ve been like this for about a week now, did you really not notice?” said Zoro.

“...oh my god...” said Nami.

“-it’ll be nice to have a hammock, I suppose. I’ll help you pack up, Mab?” said Robin.

“Thank you Robin, that’s very kind of you. Keep petting the cloudfox, Nami.” I said.

“...oh my god...” said Nami.

 

So, Nami’s a bit silly.

  


Having a multitude of hands at your beck and call must make quickly packing up all your shit really easy- mechanically I mean. Hmm. I’ve forgotten how to do something. It’ll return to me eventually.

Oh wow, I really don’t have very many clothes, do I? I mostly wear brown- there’s the occasional snap of red or blue, but it’s all pretty much brown, either tan or beige or the darker earth tones. I don’t wear brassieres, so- it’s ten different shirts in what I guess is the Ao Yem style, one pair of jean-weight pants, one pair of overalls, one long-sleeve swimsuit that has no back, one pair of sandals, ten pairs of shorts, twenty low rise boyshort-style underwear, and a handful of headbands. Should I make more, maybe? Hmm.

I kinda like my hair short though, so maybe get rid of the headbands? Chopper fitted me for a menstrual cup during the exam but I was too out of it to notice until he gave me the silicone wonder. It’s got it’s own little bag; hm. My Many Mothers spin rings I don’t take off, my glasses in their case, I’m wearing my sleeping slippers, and should I make a case for my buglace? Hmm.

Hmmmmm. I think I will. Makeup is my jar of kajal, some lipstain, and a gloss I could wear I guess? I don’t really wear makeup. Hmm. I’ll leave the nailpolish and the rest behind then.

My bathing stuff is in it’s own basket already, grab that on the way out. I’ll leave the blankets here I guess? Or- no, wash them, then put them in storage. Robin needs her own quilt, I made quilts for basically everyone else. Hm. Su and her kits went back into the men’s dorm in the laundry basket; the stain didn’t come out.

I’ll beat this satin clean if I have to.

Captain’s avoiding me. Hmm.

Good thing I remembered the lyrics for [ that song ](https://youtu.be/aedkaJZT36s).

 

“Be my musician!”

“Wear the panties I make for you!”

 

I swear to god he flinched. Captain can’t lie for goddamn shit.

 

“If you don’t want to wear underwear, I’ll just add them to your pants, Captain. It’s a chafing thing- I just don’t want you to catch assblisters.”

“Neh, Tailor. Assblisters are a thing?”

“They are and they make it really hard to poop.”

“Oh. Okay, add them to my pants then.”

“Mmhm. Next time you grab something for a pregnant lady giving birth, just use a towel.”

“Okay… Sorry, Mab.”

“It’s fine, Luffy, just don’t do the same thing again; that’s stupid.”

“Kay. ...Sing some more?”

“No.”

“...Kaaaaay.”

  


I think I’m getting along better with Robin. She’s… relaxing more, when she catches sight of me. I think I convinced her that I didn’t notice her flinching when she saw me each time. I hope we can really be friends. Okay AAAAAAAAAH GIANT WAVE SHIT GIANT WAVE AND A GHOST SHIP THAT’S A TERRIBLE COMBINATION. MOTHERFUCKER. And we’re good. Grand Line bullshit is bullshit.

Oh wow, what a boring island. It’ll be nice to stretch my legs, and Su and the kits can run around. I need to write Conis that letter, and we’re actually probably still close enough to just mail Su back; let’s see…

 

_Conis,_

 

_Su snuck on the ship to have her kits. All are well; three girls, two boys, no complications. Should I send Su and all kits back? Keep one? Also, see if can procure bubbly coral. Will exchange for Vearth._

 

_Fair trades, Mab_

 

Roll that onion-paper note up, shove it in a reed; seal with wax. Blow the whistle; _peeeEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeep;_ Skuan standard Albatross courier flops out of the sky. I tie the reed to a ribbon and tie the ribbon around its upper bill. The bird swallows the missive. I scritch the little feathers around it’s neck and stroke it down it’s spine. It tugs the short little hairs around my face with its hooked beak, all affectionate and shit. Good birdie.

It flapped back into the sky, message sent.

 

Now, in the maybe hour, hour and a half that took me to do, Captain got challenged to and accepted a Davy Back Fight.

Mother _fucker_.

So a Davy Back Fight is like tick-tack-toe but the stakes are crewmembers instead of jellybeans and the fights are predicated by how viciously we can beat the other team at like, weird sporting events. Like tag and hopscotch and shit. So the other crew- the Foxy Pirates- they’ve done this before a lot. Like a fucking lot. Like, they have an entire field and stands and OH FUNNEL CAKE- no, it’s enemy funnel cake-

 

“I’ll get you a funnel cake if you want, Mab.”

“Eh, really? But, it’s enemy funnel cake-”

“I’m really not a fan of making it, but I know it’s your favorite Fair food. You want fancy toppings or just sugar?”

“...just sugar is fine. I saw some candied apples over there too?”

“I’ll take one of those, sure.”

 

Yaaay. Funnel cake funnel cake funnel cake yaaaaay. Caramel apple for Sanji and funnel cake for me~! Life is dangerous and living safely isn’t living at all. Funnel Caaaaaaake~!

Oh man sugar rush. I eat the whole funnel cake and basically vibrate in place for the entire round-the-island race and they took Chopper those assholes and I really hope Conis lets me keep one of the kits they are so **cute** gosh I wonder how far we are from the cumuloregalis it was built by Titania during her experimental phase of pyrobloin production that’s why it doesn’t move or rain or change ever oh my god funnel cake is the best woah the second round is starting I’m getting in on this action wow Groggy Ring wow looks just like wow plays like Spangle I love playing Spangle oh wait they’ll count Falkor as a teammate so lemme just leave her with the others wow sugar rush sugar rush wow wow wow wow-

 

“SANJI! Sanji sanji sanji let me be the ball sanji let me be the ball I’ll be the best fucking ball sanji sanji sanji-”

“Okay, fine. Here.”

“Yayayayayayay!”

 

Wow this sure is a stupid looking hat it’s kinda loose my limbs are kinda loose and I want to fucking fight someone when’s this fucking gonna start oh we’re the ball side excellent wow wow wow this is going to be _so much fun_. Bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce my boobs only bounce a little it’s like a goddamn plate of custard maybe it’s not so bouncy if I’m gonna have boobs this big at the very least I should get an entertaining jiggle-wiggle goddamn bounce bounce bounce.

Oh we’re heads heads up seven up we’re on the field side that’s going to be _amaaaaazing_ we’re going to have so much fun yay yay that was an amazing evil laugh really twelve out of ten for theatricality which is nice oh we’re starting now I think they’re rushing towards us but I didn’t hear a whistle oh so they’re cheating okay-

Two steps left, hook and shove middle guy into leftie and bounce bounce bounce around the grabbing arms of rightie, Sanji sanji sanji sanji I’m taking my shirt off it’s hot it’s really hot-

 

“Mab, no.”

“Mab _yes_.”

“Oh my god.”

“Woooo!”

 

There’s the whistle and drop slide across the grass roll to my feet scramble over and across the one two three enemy team players wow wow wow this is exactly like Grounder’s Spangle this is amazing I think I’m laughing also it is incredibly hot I am so hot right now woooo. My shit got grabbed to dance in the wind this is amazing I’ve already got a light coating of mud this is great I am going to fucking wreck someone’s shit let’s fucking do this shit wow wow wow-

No time limit first point wins okay cool let’s _gooooooooo!_

Cartwheel backbend flop to the ground rolololololololololol yeaaaaaaaaah spin legs up and SLAM DIRECT TO THE CROTCH CROTCH SHOT CROTCH SHOT AHAHAHAHAHA- I didn’t know a man could scream that high wow wow wow this is amaaaaaaaazing crab walk backwards do dee da da daaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAA!

FUCK YOU!

FFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUCK YOOOOOOOOOOOU- rolololololololol let’s fucking go let’s do this you wanna go fuckass pillow biting piece of shit whoreson-

 

Zoro and Sanji are beating the enemy guys up now, gotta stand and fight with them fucking ow ow ew ow oh god ew and then I’ve kicked myself through the air and throatpunched the guy who grabbed my wingbase fuck you fuck you use Zoro’s shoulder as a fulcrum and break the other guys nose snap snap blood comes down cross ankles around last guys neck full throwbackbend and slam him into the ground jacknife up and kidney punch claws out and sharp clean sharp shining black open lines through slippery skin and fat and meat to bones beneath fuuuuuuuuck you.

Sanji’s arms around my ribs hauling me away I’LL FUCK THEM UP FUCKING ASSHOLES SHIT FUCK ugh ugh ugh so slimy and gross that was not okay I am not okay with that fucking-

 

“It’s okay, Mab. I’ll kill him for you.”

“It was the slimy fishman, half-fishman, Wotan, fucking-”

“I’ll get him, calm down.”

“I scratched his back up, got him in the kidney too. Left side, I think.”

“I’ll get him. Breathe.”

“Kay.”

I lean back into the warmth of his chest, flatten my feet to the dirt and stand.

“Throw me at the pickle-man, I’ll destroy his armor.”

“You sure?”

“ **Motherfucker**.”

“Alright, fine.”

 

Sanji throws me at the pickle-man. My claws land directly into the flesh of his chest and I tear that shit up. His pauldrons are held onto his body with a set of metal chains. It’s going to take a bit of work to cut through these. Schreek! He wobbles and turns towards the goal line motherfucker you wish _Plink!_ and the right pauldron sliiiiides off the shoulder and the left gets loose on his back Schreeeeeeeek! and draw a line of blood across his back _Plink!_ and the pauldrons fall. I kick the pickle-man over the goal line, use the shoulders of the guy who looks like an orangutan- nice scarf, terrible face- as a springboard and claw a new bloody stripe into that fucking half-giant asshole. These fuckers ruined my good sugar rush fuck them fuck them.

 

IF YOU TWO IDIOTS TRY TO START SOME SHIT NOW I SWEAR MY HANDS TO GOD I WILL FUCK THE BOTH OF YOU UP AND TAKE DOWN ALL THREE OF THESE ASSHOLES THERE WILL BE BLOOD AND SLIME FUCKING EVERYWHERE GODDAMMIT- ten seconds?

Fine.

_Fine._

Oh they have **_weapons_ ** now? **Perfect.**

  


 

I don’t actually remember what happened next. I vaguely remember beating the ever loving shit out of the Wotan asshole who grabbed my wingbases- that fucker was **_not_ ** my husband, asshole- I slammed his head in with like a cooking pan or some shit. I don’t know, I was really angry coming off that sugar high. It reminded me of what I’m like when I take painkillers, opiates especially. Hmm. Maybe I shouldn’t have had that funnel cake?

Anyway, I spent the rest of the Davy Back Fight petting Su and working really hard to let my anger go. It’s no one’s fault but his, and I already kicked his ass. I do not need to melt his balls off with spiders, where would I even get enough spiders for that, god.

Pet the cloudfox, Mab.

It was nice of Captain to get the hooooooooooorse back for that guy we met, Tonjit or something; always good to see his bone deep unshakeable confidence in himself rubbing off on the crew. Chopper is also petting a cloudfox now. Cloudfox cuddles are super duper soothing, this is why I wanted a cloudfox kit of my own. Fucking love cloudfoxes.

Luffy… can make his hair do the afro?

...How? He’s non-static, how is he getting his hair to do that? That’s really weird, how is he doing that…?

 

“Usopp, did you help Luffy do his hair?”

“Yeah, why?”

“So, is it a beer rinse or a glue or what?”

“Double beer rinse, and some wax pomade to keep the structure.”

“Nice. How’d you solve the non-static problem?”

“Well… uh, I actually used tallow.”

“Uh huh. That wouldn’t be from the suet marked for Merry, would it?”

“No, it was in the hold.”

“Cool.”

 

Of course, Captain won the captain’s fight. So we win the fight- because Captain won his fight. We get our boat back- they took Merry captive or something. We also take the Foxy Pirates flag, which means the Foxy Pirate’s captain, Silver Foxy, and his first mates, Porche and Hamburg, are separated from their crew in a rowboat.

Life can be cruel.

  


I want- Sanji. I want a shower and Sanji to touch me. My buglace is fully waterproof, rinse all this blood and sweat the fuck off. Dirt too, this is- this is gross. Bleh. It’s time to cut my hair again, it’s down to my shoulders again. Forgot how quickly it grows. The white patch is shrinking, though.

Basket of towels and new clothing on the shelf by the tub, might be time to soak-

Crabby has my scissors. Such a good girl. This time, I cut my hair in a chunky asymmetrical cut, a [ bob ](http://www.herinterest.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/03/Asymmetrical-bob_02.jpg) that’s grown out a little bit. Hmm. I wonder if I should shave the sides?

 

Should I shave the sides?

“If you want. It’s your hair.”

“Hey.”

“Hey. -I’ll wash your back?”

I look at Sanji in the mirror, then smile. Blushing, we’re both blushing. “Alright.”

 

I untie the strings of my shorts. I peel them down and off; dirt and blood and salt-rime make that slowly-peeling open velcro sound but it’s my skin oh god that’s gross yet slightly satisfying. Shorts drop to the floor. Sanji steadily peels out of his clothing- shoes jacket shirt pants socks- and then puts his hands on my hips. They’re cold. I shiver. His thumbs insinuate themselves under the waistband of my underwear, slides everything down one hand splayed over the span of my hips and the dense muscle beneath the skin the other tugging down down down press grimy skin to grimy skin and shudder.

See his peeling tattoo next to my peeling tattoo, same outer feathers but his are fish and waves on the inside and mine are birds scattering apart scruff against the column of my throat and the warm wet stroke of a tongue against my ear. Shudder. Sigh with a squeak in it.

Pile of underwear on the ground kick mine to the rest of my clothes soft squeak when he presses a kiss to the back of my neck. Turn the shower on. Bar of soap in my hand smells like soap smells like pine it’s his soap stroke from the top of his face to the bottom of his belly little round circles fold my fingers over so the nails stroke over pale skin red-brown nipples broad pectorals glasses fogging up _clink!_ onto the sink and turn my head up into the spray soft gasp hand rushing over soapy skin grime sluicing away palms against the back of my ribs my spine slip-smoothing over the ba- aaaaaaah aaaaaaah aAAAAAAAAAAAAH- stagger over to the toilet and shut the lid slowly slide onto the seat and moosh my face into his stomach bellybutton trail down blurry just before the blackened trail reaches his- fffaaaaaaaaah aaaaaaaaah aaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAH- moan into his lower stomach, kiss what bobs and twitches just under blurry eyesight the whimper that comes from him is-

_Perfect-_

His sounds are perfect and I want to remember hearing all of them.

 

I look up at him but immediately realize I’m not wearing my glasses. I can’t actually see his face. Goddamn piece of shit eyes.

I lick the bobbing bit and he yips, eyes flutter closed the smell of musk and wet and lick a stripe down the side of it warm and soft down down down high whimper from him his arm thumps into the slowly wettening wall brace my arm against his sharp hip bone and open mouth and exhale he squeaks and I close my lips around and the technique is much like North Blue Kissing, but instead of their tongue you play with, it’s- well, you understand.

Swirl swirl swirl just against the tip then deepen the low kiss and stroke up the bottom of the- hum a little bit, maybe, soft whimpers from him but keep the hand on his hip he’ll thrust if he gets a chance and his hips are strong I am not here for that neck strain life lick straight up the vein on the bottom of- drool runs down my chin, moan a little against him and stare up at him from under my eyelashes blush over my cheeks running down my chest blush and drool swirl against the tip and swallow put my other hand on his hips I can feel him straining against me but don’t fucking do it I will not like that my gag reflex is- okay, it’s not that strong, honestly, so I could, maybe just- just- swallow- him-

And he makes the stupidest face. I can’t quite see his face clearly, but what I can see is so stupid looking, like he’s gotta sneeze only he can’t make it slip out of his nose. He shudders and gasps and sighs and moans and he pulses in my mouth; I swallow and swallow and swallow. I press my legs together, brace him with my legs so he doesn’t fall over press my hands into his shoulders my seat is wet but not from the shower we should turn that off easy easy, his eyes are shut tightly and tears are running down his face again, Sanji, sanji sanji sanji. I rinse my mouth; swish and spit and kiss his mouth soft soft Sanji. Arms come around me, kiss kiss kiss. Kick the shower off.

Turn us around he’s on the closed toilet now, shh sh sh sh.

Kneel between Sanji’s legs and kiss him tangle hands in his hair sharp exhale out of nose and slow stroke of our tongues the taste of smoke and a little bit of blood callused hands gripping my hips my ass squeezing- kiss breaks snail trail between our lips- lifts me up, turns me and balances my ass on the lip of the bath loops my legs over his shoulder. His head goes down.

He kisses me and I whine.

 

Power rush I could break his head open like a melon brain splatter over my thighs tangle a hand in blonde hair and brace the other on the wall tongue scraping like like a finger but no friction how how aaah AAAAH AH AAAAAH wetter slime rolling down like vibrating on the on the the the AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH and he kisses it me the the the AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH oh oh oh god oh god thin and thick and topshelf and inside and aaaaaaaaaaah the the the thin tip gets places where my fingers can’t aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah♥ oh ♥ oh ♥ oh ♥ oh ♥ oh ♥ oh ♥ oh ♥ oh ♥ ooooh oh oh oh oh oah oah oah oah oah oah oah oah oah oah oah oah oah oah oah oah oah oaaah oaaah oaaah oaaah oaaah oaaah oaaah Aaah Aaah Aaah Aaah Aaah Aaah Aaah Aaah Aaah Aaah Aaah haaAaah hAaaaaaah AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH♥- press my hand to his forehead too much too much too much lock my arm against the ow ow ow sanji aaauhg oh oh oh-

He pulls me into his lap.

 

“H-hey.”

“Getting excited?”

“Y-yeah.”

A smile slowly rolls across my mouth.

Sanji gulps.

 

The ship bounces hard enough to knock a towel from the shelf into the tub.

Sanji’s eyebrows scrunch together.

Shit.

 

I stagger to my feet and throw a dry towel in Sanji’s direction scrub down with a dry one of my own pull on a new shirt- blue flashes salmon tie behind my neck behind the small of my back square knots slide boardshorts on no time for underwear are these mine do I have boardshorts- too late, Sanji already put mine on they’re not exactly cut right for a guy but they are loose enough for him oh my god his ass looks so good in my shorts holy fuck oh fuck me sideways we need to get out there one hand pulls the strings tight around my hips and the other jams my glasses on my nose we stumble out the door shut the door I’ll come back and wipe it down later go go go here’s your sock and boots fucking- where’s my other booooohf, Sanji stop catching me, you don’t know how to do it ow ow ow tug my socks on and put my feet in my boots motherfucker we run out onto the storage room. I check to make sure the cannons are secure-

 

“Cannons secure, go check the kitchen-”

“Good, got it-”

 

-I always make sure my sewing machine and supplies are secured on the daily, replacing that will make Nami really mad, hives are secure go go go.

We charge out onto the deck and I keep going moving at a forty-five degree angle to the deck because we are pitching stagger into the other cannon deck anchor is secure that cannon is NOT YAAAAAH RIGHT LEG BRACES LEFT LEG SHOVES IT INTO PLACE FUCK FUCK FUCK gotcha okay push it into place pull the ropes tight and got it motherfucker that’s the mast that’s the mast grab two, three, four coiled ropes on the way out.

Crabby is clinging to the deck; I take the gas-shell tie on the belts and **run** . _Blink around the mast with the middle of the rope bowline on a bight Blink and that’s two blink and that’s three blink and it is four Blink under the ship oh Merry your keel is nearly cracked through you’ll be sailing on hope and a prayer soon just let me carrick bend these together two parallel and two juxtapose along your spine don’t you dare_ **_don’t you dare-_ ** _press my blackened hand to the keel and give her my strength- you’re going to live,_ **_Merry you’re going to live_ ** _._

 

 

 

The storm stops. Merry tells me to stop, so I do. The sea is calm again. I crawl back onto the deck. The water sluicing off of me is- pink, red? Agony dripping across my body all down my spine c-can’t can’t tug off my- got it, gas shell clatters to the deck and wheeze out small lumps of raspberry jelly blood iron got a nosebleed from the strain, my eyes roll up in my head. Blackout for about fifteen seconds.

Nami comes across me and screams.

 

"i’m okay, really, i’m fine-"

“CHOPPER!”

“Nami? AH! DOCTOR, WE NEED A DOCTOR-”

“YOU ARE A DOCTOR!”

“m’fine, really, s’fine. rub’some dirt on it and gimme a plate of veg it’s’fine.”

“THAT IS NOT PROPER MEDICAL PROCEDURE. SANJI, COME HERE!”

“Wha- AH!”

“gotdammit no one listens to me for fuck’sake-”

“You- why- how- what’s with the rope-?”

“LEAVE THE FUCKING ROPE I DID NOT GET SLICED LIKE LUNCHMEAT TO HAVE TO REDO MY WORK THE ROPES ARE SUPPORTING THE MAST DON’T YOU TOUCH THEM USOPP oW OW ow Ow. we need a shipwright, Merry’s keel is getting worse we need a shipwright ow ow ow fucking ow-”

“-how the fuck did you cut up your back like this-”

“-how do you think, I gave her my strength of body for a bit, that storm would have snapped her keel-”

“-what-”

“-where do you think the cuts on my back came from, goddaaAAAAAAAAH ow ow ow fuck-”

“Sorry, put your arms around my neck-”

“Okay. It wasn’t you, saltwater, fucking- kitchen’s easier to sanitize, don’t you **_dare_ ** drop me-”

“-I would **_never_ ** -”

  


So Chopper had to glue and stitch up the entire length of my spine- from the base of my skull all the way to the pudge right above my ass. He also gave me a tetanus shot in the ass because it has to go into a muscle and fuuuuuuuuuck shots man. Sanji rubbed me down with a towel. He lingered over my ass and legs, but I enjoy it when he touches me so I didn’t say anything.

 

“So. When Chopper says it’s okay, I’m going to get up and do some repairs on Merry. Or when we get to the pitstop island we're sailing towards, either way.”

“You’ll be fine in an hour or so to move around lightly, but no heavy work for a day or two. Make sure the glue is fully dry to maintain the seal- you’ll be able to bathe after three days or so, your skin should have repaired itself by then.”

“Fine. Nami.”

“Mab.”

“You need to keep Luffy from playing with the ropes holding up Merry’s mast. I don’t care how- if he plays around like he’ll want to, the mast will become unstable, Merry’s spine will crack, and I’ll have to put her in the egg immediately. We will then be basically drifting on a raft that could fall to pieces at any moment. I know how to make a reasonably workable raft ferry us to the next port of call, but-”

“If it’s as bad as that, when we get to the next island, do it. I know Sanji’s got the last of the supplies you need- make what you need to, and help Merry.”

“Good. Captain?”

“You hurt yourself protecting Merry, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Then- when we get to our next stop, save her.”

“I- okay. If conditions are favorable, I will.”

 

I sigh deeply. Shoring. Rigid body covered in some kind of gasket; pumping mechanism, to remove water. There’s like an inch of water at the bottom of Merry’s hold, and we can’t bail it out- there’s hairline cracks all through her hull, so there needs to be some sort of batting and caulk, a sealant. Horseshoe crabs. One of the Dials; I need- that’s the mail.

 

“Usopp, go bring in the albatross. It’s from Conis’n them.”

“Okay.” He walks out of the kitchen.

 

I’m basically laying on the table, my feet flopped off the end. There’s a sharp squeal. Usopp walks back in with an albatross on each shoulder and a Greater Shoebill Pelican on his head. He looks concerned. The pelican is honest to goodness sitting on his head. It has a brass ring around it’s neck as well- aha, it must be a cargo transport. Once Usopp sits at the table, Lefty Alba flap-hops off of him and waddles over to me; there’s a striped blue tape, shiny like a piece of candy tied in a bow around its upper beak. I prop myself up on an elbow, grasp it firmly around the neck, and make it cough up the letter before untying the tape. Yep- good old sweet reed, sealed with wax; Conis wrote back.

 

_Mab,_

_That’s a relief! Wedding gift for you or Sanji: one (1) cloudfox kit, either gender. Clear with Su, return all to Skypiea at earliest convenience. Second albacourier has Bubbly Coral requested; also sent Yarukiman Mangrove Sap, letter set. Merry looking rough. Send equal volumes Vearth in payment. Seeds also accepted. Wiper sends regards._

_Fair trades; Conis_   
  


Now that’s some good news; I can use the bubbly coral to really dry Merry out and create an underwater drydock; there are large milky dials I can use to make sealant with the sap. Wait, shit, she’s- aw, she’s formally asking to be my friend. Depending on what the stationary she sent is like, she’s also subtly insulted me. I’ll write her back in a moment. (People say that bubbly coral and yarukiman mangrove sap only have their famous properties around Sabaody and Fishman Island. Truth is, most sailors only _encounter_ the stuff around those islands- they work as stated worldwide. If they didn't, I wouldn't have asked Conis for the coral, and she wouldn't have sent the tree sap either.)

 

“Sanji, could you get some fish for the albacouriers? They worked hard- and a big one for the peliporter. It’s about time for Su to go back home.”

“Aw, really?”

“Su is not my cloudfox, Usopp, and Conis wants her back. Conis also only gave me one of the kits as a wedding present- but only if Su agrees to it. Chopper?”

“Uh? Oh! Sure, just a sec-”

“Also, does anyone have a pen?”

“Uh, yeah- here.”

“Thank you, Nami.”

 

While I read Conis’ letter and talked to my crewmates, Rightie Alba hopped onto the table and coughed up neatly wrapped packages; bubbly coral, a tallow-sealed jar of treesap with the striped paper wrapper; and the letter set in an oblong box. It’s a neat design; looks a bit like a chopstick case meant to hold a spoon and fork as well, got a little looped handle and everything. It’s not actually a chopstick case though; instead of chopsticks it’s got four glass vials with stoppers, a stylus for writing and inserting rolled letters, and- oho, a tracing board and a neat little roll of vellum, parchment’s translucent older cousin. (A tracing board is a flat piece of- I forget what exactly, some kind of scale cut to size I guess? You paint the slink on and trace it with the stylus; there’s a chemical reaction and... Anyway, I- oh, damn, do I remember how to do this? No, wait, I wrote the first one in the right runes, nevermind.) All that’s left is- yeah, a little compact of slink. This is a really nice gift, I’ll have to send one back of a similar kind. Also the pattern of the stationary is those spunkless egg characters, Gudetama or something. I’ll send her back some Lisa Frank stationery stickers, she’ll love and hate them.

As for the cloudfoxes- well, it takes about fifty-two days for a dam to give birth, then it’s two weeks constant nursing, which is about when I became aware of the situation. It’s been about fifteen days since then, and the kits have quadrupled their weight, established a pecking order amongst themselves, developed distinctive personalities, and started eating solid foods. It’s a good time to pick a kit out; they’re all tame enough, just have to see if Su is agreeable, and if so, which one.

 

“Su says you should take the long, slinky one. She’s better suited for Blue Sea adventures.”

“Okay. You heard your mom, Taffy, you’re one of us now.”

 

Taffeta, the long, lanky cloudfox kit- proportionally, she’s like a purebred [ siamese cat ](http://www.siamesebc.org/photo/Top-2007-08/c01.jpg)? Except with the fennec ears and the tail like a feather duster and the pointy fox face. But otherwise… Oh, less vocal than the other cloudfox kits, much less vocal. Mostly chirrups and spazz dances from this girl. Anyway, Taffeta slinks up under my chin and makes a pleasant chirruping noise. Aw, sweet.

Crabby trundles in with a stack of towels and a comb. Such a good girl. The peliporter has eaten a fish Sanji brought out for it; when I tap it on the bill, it yawns wide for me. Towel down in the bottom, and another for the sides; Su, and her remaining kits bound into the peliporter’s mouth. Tap-tap the bill, and the peliporter flops off of Usopp’s head and waddles to the door. Zoro opens it for her, and she flaps off into the sky.

Bye bye, cloudfoxes.

 

Hm.

 

“Usopp, there’s an empty jam jar in my sewing room, not the one with dirt in it- I’ll tell you the recipe for good dirt, and you fill the jar okay?”

“Uh, sure.”

“There’s a recipe for dirt?”

“Good dirt, yeah. Oh, hey- what’s with the disgraced Foxy Pirates?”

“Their boat got destroyed; but their crew is over that-a-way a bit so we’re taking them to them.”

“Merry is not equipped to handle underwater maneuvers at this time, Zoro-?”

“Oi, Mossbrain, you pointed at the deck. South is that way.”

“Shut up.”

  
  
  


 

So I don’t exactly remember all of my childhood. I remember the big things that happened- the things that really made an impression on me.

I remember the smell of Mab’s letters. They smelled of flowers and sea spray, but I didn’t know it as such then; I just knew that her words were beautiful. Mab was beautiful to me long before I knew her as a flesh and blood being; the idea of her in my mind was always shining. She would write about anything and everything, and all of it lovely.

And then the dungeon.

 

I ran. I took food, money, Mab’s letters, a knife- and I ran. Reiju got me out; Ichiji, Niji, and Yonji caused distractions; my- He told me- I ran. The Orbit was a good ship, and I worked on it from the time I was just nine until I was eleven, when pirates attacked it and it sank. Mab’s letters sank to the bottom of the sea- and I suppose, after everything else that happened, that little detail just… wasn’t important.

I always knew that Mother had arranged it with a friend of hers from school, that their children were to marry. My shitty siblings never shut up about it. It was agreed that as the family weakling, I would get the genderless scandalous freakish Fairy Princess, Mab- but it was my mother that made me write to her. She said that the Fairy construction of gender was entirely a personal choice- and I should get to know the person I was to marry before… She always stopped herself before she said more than that. She said that the Fairy view of gender was complicated, and I needed to talk to the person called “Mab” before trying to-

I think when I lost Mab’s letters, I lost- the memory. Of her. Of who she is.

 

My mother always encouraged me to keep writing to Mab, to keep being friends with them- her, with her. She taught me calligraphy, even though she was so sick, just to make sure the letters I sent her were the nicest they could be… But I ran at nine and the shipwreck and- Mab. I. I forgot about her. She just- wasn’t important.

  


So, of course, the first day I’m on the Grand Line, the first person I meet that isn’t a crazy old man is Mab. I didn’t know it then, but it was her- I had forgotten, about Fairies, about most of the Fae: they don’t have genders. They have individuals that may or may not have genders, and- and that means they don’t have gendered work. To Mab, me being a cook isn’t… feminine. Me using my legs to fight isn’t feminine. It’s just what I do. If a Fairy can do a job, they do it- so when Mab said she could be a seamstress or a forward scout, I didn’t believe her, I thought… I thought she was just some woman from an island that Captain took a shine to.

And then I saw her back.

 

A Fairy is a winged humanoid; their wings are insectile in nature, generally either two or four distinct wings located in pairs on the blades of the shoulder, approximately. On Mab’s back there are, were, four- two pairs of lumps, covered in soft brown hairs that flicker blue and shimmering in the light. They feel like velvet, or- no- hair right after a high and tight, where it’s tight. Warm, soft, fuzzy. Her reactions when I stroke them is why I do it- just. Her face, her blush, the sounds she makes-

Fairies do not have gender as a construct in their society, nor do they attach any sort of shame or intrinsic value to the act of sex; in Queen Ariel’s words- “Sex is a thing you can do if you want, but it’s not really a big deal? It’s a serious action, but not actually that important. It’s what gets brought up _because of_ sex that’s important.”

They don’t consider chivalry or flirting as anything other than time-passing activities, time-wasting even, so- her reaction when I trotted out the _Mellorine~!_ Routine… that was pure Fairy. That’s also when I started to consider that Mab might have been, in fact- well, no. I just thought she was a Fairy that had lost their wings- and then she confronted me about it. So… I told her. And it was Mab.

It was all pure Fae- the shirts made out of silk handkerchiefs and string, the short shorts or the pants tucked into the same pair of boots daily, no bras ever- the dirty jokes. I’m the cook, I should have noticed she’s- Fairies are usually vegetarian, but Mab told me a long time ago in her letters that the more military Fairy will eat fish too. They don’t eat pork or beef if they can help it- too heavy. She told me she was going to the Fairisle Military Engineering school- I should have noticed- but Alabasta, and the feast and the bath house, and… and that’s when I remembered by first friend.

Mostly, that’s when I remembered how much of an _asshole_ Mab can be.

 

Over the weeks it all came rushing back to me- Mab’s humor, intelligence, kindness, gentility, conscientious resolve- it was all there, burning inside of her. Even without her memories, even- different, she was still herself. And- she remembered me. She always remembered me, or was interested in me- and I wouldn’t put it past Him to declare me dead in a state funeral and then try to use me as a bargaining chip. But He can’t marry me off to anyone if I’m already married.

That’s why I married Mab at first- considered marrying her. I- we were engaged already, and Fairies don’t use jewelry, it’s… a Fairy marriage is a trade agreement before it’s anything else. I married her so that I couldn’t be used as a political lever by my shitty, shitty blood relations.

I didn’t marry her because I loved her- I only vaguely thought of her sexually then, she’s not- she’s not well endowed. She’s- she’s got almost no breasts to speak of. I’m honest enough to admit that I’m a bust man. She doesn’t have one. It honestly frustrates her that she has breasts at all, they aren’t- to her, they’re for feeding babies. (Her baby died.)

Her hips and her shoulders are of equal width, but her waist is- she’s built like a washboard, almost. There’s- the way her muscles sit on her body emphasizes her hips, and her arms and legs and waist are muscular, not soft. The only soft thing about her is the surface- underneath it’s all like hugging a wall. A warm, breathing wall. With skin like creamy mashed potatoes on the tongue, smooth and warm and just the slightest grain to let you know it’s there. She’s like firm tofu.

Her hair is soft as feathers though, so maybe…

Remembering her in Alabasta didn’t spark an interest in her sexually. No.

That happened in the Sky Blue Sea.

 

When we landed in the white sea of clouds near Jaya, I saw Mab in that undiffused light and- it’s. My- He is wrong. He’s wrong about me, about who I am and my strengths and a whole lot of things because- see- The shitty old man said a long time ago that smoking would destroy my tastebuds, but- I never told him why I started.

We were experimented on- and of all of us, I was the only one who didn’t have any… any special skills. No special skills, no fancy tricks- just. Just human. Except I’m not. I started smoking because- because I needed to stop tasting every little thing about the food I was eating, needed to stop smelling the cooks that touched the food, I needed to stop smelling every woman who walked onto the deck of the ship, I- I was fifteen and the cold linoleum would have turned me on, and I just. Needed. **Something**. Cigarettes worked.

I can still smell everything, still taste everything- can still smell the difference between fresh laid and nearly fresh and sat an hour in the coop and sat two days in the coop chicken eggs, can still taste the difference between ripe and dead ripe and overripe when it’s only a few hours either way, can smell cherries and figs in the sugar and taste how much sun the melon drank can feel the exact texture of optimum fish can hear the perfect ratio of bubbles in the bread dough- it’s none of it gone. The smoking is just something to do with my hands and mouth. Was. Was just something to do with my hands and mouth.

I- I don’t get sick. I don’t get sick from things I eat. I can eat anything, and it will not harm me. I can eat food straight from the floor. I can find food anywhere- the little rock on the sea, it- I can’t get lost on land. I- He was wrong. He was wrong, I’m not defective or weak or worthless I’m just- different. My siblings got active enhancements. Mine are passive. Touch came first, then smell- taste and vision were always there, I’m pretty sure- used to be fascinated with watching b-bugs, dragonfly wings flapping and [ yule beetles ](http://australianmuseum.net.au/uploads/images/23866/king%20beetle%20anoplognathus%20viridiaeneus%20dorsal_big.jpg) crawling in the dirt used to- I was so glad Mab made me a quilt for Sakura Kingdom. I would have scratched myself bloody trying to stay warm, it’s why I wear such expensive clothing- it’s all such a high-threadcount, I’m actually… I’m comfortable. Cheap clothing itches.

 

I used to watch b-bugs, I used to really like b-bugs and Mab- in the ancient Sky Blue Sea, Mab **shone.** Describing her- is like- vanilla. She’s like vanilla. She complements every flavor on the crew; from the robust sharp flavors of Luffy and Zoro to the earthier fare of Usopp and Chopper to the mysterious unctuousness and citric tang of Robin and Nami- even Merry’s flavor of wood and sea salt she makes better- and me. She complements me most of all; little things. She always asks, but only when she’s hungry- for food, I mean, and she asks for simple fare because she doesn’t want to be a bother, doesn’t want to presume on my supplies or my time and really prefers simple foods- she never presumes she never pushes she asked me if I wanted her in my kitchen if it was okay for her bugs to kill the vermin in my kitchen she doesn’t- she asked what kind of towels I wanted, and my kitchen was always **my kitchen** . She’ll spar with me anytime, anywhere, tease me anytime, anywhere- but not the kitchen because the kitchen is- safe. It’s safe for me it’s always been safe for me, she left it safe for me she never intrudes on it without my express permission. She was **_absolutely furious_ ** when our crewmates stole food.

When she spars with me, her etiquette is perfect- she says at the start if it’s hard or light and does not waver, cusses me out when I fuck it up but she’s never cruel and I did ask for her help and I do need to unlearn- Fairies don’t have gender and they don’t have chivalry and they don’t- they don’t care what you do so long as you do it well. She doesn’t care how I fight- she cares that I can fight against anyone or anything that comes after me. She wants to protect me, and she wants me to be able to protect myself.

She doesn’t touch my hands without my permission. She knows they’re my treasure and I know she can cut through steel with her fingertips so- she never, ever touches my hands. Except for once- and I. I took her hand, I squeezed her hand because I was so scared and she- she’s warm. She tugs on my sleeve and she says when she’s going behind me and if there’s something in her hands, she cooked food for me and gave up her security so I could have mine she- She’s like Vanilla.

Everyone knows what vanilla is like. But no, they don’t- vanilla is the second most expensive spice in the world, equal to the price of gold. Vanilla, real vanilla- which I can always discern- has at least 250 different flavor and aroma compounds and I’ve _counted_ them and with Mab only one or two are the ones you see. Because it’s so complex, it can be used to spice nearly anything- meat, alcohol, fish, vegetables, fruit, coffee, tea, cola, hell- it even makes a building feel more homey.

Mab is vanilla and she doesn’t know this but- of all the spices, Vanilla is one of my very favorites.

 

I only got drunk enough at Skypiea to follow through on my plan- I tried kissing her in Conis-chama’s pantry just to make sure a marriage with Mab Tailor would be… palatable. Edible.

Her lips, her mouth, every gasp and shiver was entirely edible. Good even. A-amazing. She’s- she doesn’t think about gender the way I do, I knew that intellectually, learned that as a child, but-

I wasn’t drunk. I hesitate to say that she was drunk- a Mushroom Martini is basically tea with a tot of booze in it, and it’s not terribly strong booze either. It’s strong enough you’ll feel three, but- I. My plan was to just marry her and- and what? I didn’t plan beyond that. I didn’t plan on actually falling for her.

She’s not- she’s not the exciting kind of beauty. She doesn’t appreciate my protection unless she actually needs to be protected- she can protect herself. She’s… an equal. She’s- I’m not shy. I’m not. But I have shame- she doesn’t have shame in the same way. For her, shame would come if- if a sail ripped or a rope snapped or one of us was cold in the night. She doesn’t care who sees her, sees her with me, it’s not… it’s not important. So she thinks I’m shy.

She thinks I’m shy because every time she makes me- with her mouth, her hands, just kissing me- I’m so… guilty. I married her because I was afraid of being- and she… she knew. She knows. She told me so and cackled about it, she- she always knew. How can she kiss so- so good, it’s warm and sweet and crackling and comforting and- and- it feels so good. It’s indescribable how good it feels to be with her. And not just like that, just- sleeping next to her, being in the same room while we do the day’s work, just-

She smiles every time she sees me. She- her nose is like the keel of a ship, straight and narrow and sharp. Her lips are long and her eyes- when she’s not wearing her glasses, her eyes are so- her eyebrows-

She's beautiful.

And she’s mine. I married her. Sky Blue marriages are considered some of the most binding marriages in the world- simple to go through one, but they only stop when one of us dies. It’s a lifetime guarantee, its- I’m married to her for as long as we both live. And Mab- Mab’s the kind of person to pick a path and follow it to the end of the road. The very permanent end of the road.

I always really admired that about her and now her road includes- me. She’s going to be my wife until I die. She’s not a dalliance or a concubine or a lover- she’s my wife. She will dally with me and comfort me and love me and- she already does. She- her affections are mine, her love is mine and I- after Skypeia, was it then?

Was it then?

 

I love stupid things about her- the way she crinkles her nose when she works out a complex pattern in a grid, the way she hums for me when I'm having a nightmare, the way she takes a twenty minute nap just before lunch, the way she combs her hair and the- the stupid things, like her perpetually cold hands and feet, and the way she writes her numbers- the way she multiplies is with binary runesets, she doesn’t use numbers like I know them, she doesn’t use Alabastan numerals- except when she’s writing a list for shopping because anyone could do the shopping and Mab hates being rude more than anything.

I love touching her- holding her hands, touching her face, touching what remains of her wings- the sounds she makes when I touch her there and lower and she’s mine- and she’s soft and wet and smooth and warm and she clings with her entire body each limb and muscle and she sighs and clings and begs me for more and I always oblige her because- because-

She doesn’t like singing in front of people. She hates singing for crowds and for Mab, more than two people is a crowd- and she always counts herself. But she hums for me. She’d sing for me if I asked. Portgas D. Mab Tailor Morgan of the Sky Blue Sea has one of the most beautiful voices in the world.

 

I love everything about her- her long cold toes, her ability to carve through steel barehanded, the way we talk to each other every night about nothing in particular, everything.

Everything.

I just- I hadn’t planned on falling in love with my wife, I just thought- but. I am. I did. I’m falling for her and I don’t want to stop and I’m not sure I actually **_can_** stop, anymore.

After she got hurt protecting Merry, I just- I couldn’t not tell her. She deserves to know that I love her, even if I don’t- I don’t deserve her.

 

“I don’t deserve you, Mab-”

“Sanji. We’re already married. You’re **_mine_ **.”

“...Okay.”

 

In a [ white satin ](https://youtu.be/g5Mc2MAVU38) shirt embroidered with red flowers that’s held on with a couple of square knots and matching panties, Mab is- radiant. Dark hair falling in a sheet over the silk pillowcase; the sway of the hammock dapples the light on her skin. Her voice when lifted in exaltation sounds like fresh mango with plain yogurt, the smell of cardamom and tea. Her skin is the exact color of a sweet milky chai, with brown-turquoise scales in an ‘x’ on her back; her smell is lavender and soap, cleanly combined with her own feminine stench. Her skin is so soft. When she looks at me, if I was to fall- I’d fall.

Being with Mab is a hell of a way to die.

There was an explosion at the end, even.

 

“So.”

“So.”

“Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

  
  


 

After we woke up from our nap, I took a shower and discovered that we were nearly to the pitstop island Nami had foreseen. That woman is a damn oracle, I swear.

While everyone feasted, I prepared for Merry’s emergency repairs; I’m going to do the best I can. Signalflies spread for kilometers ahead of us, and I take note of each asset the upcoming island has. It doesn’t matter where we land- I’m going to help Merry.

I’m going to help Merry or die trying.


	12. Fixed

If I can’t help Merry- then I’ll save her instead. Thankfully, it seems we stopped soon enough for me to help her. I’m glad we don’t have to carom her, either- her hull is barnacle free, and has been since I joined.

 

We land on at the pitstop island and I begin work immediately- doesn’t matter that there’s no light for me to see by; dig a pit in the beach and line it with stone. Grab a cauldron I usually use to fix secondary ombre colors onto fabric; pour it half full of seawater and suspend over a fire. Bring it to a boil and add the sap; load hot mixture into a Milky Dial that fits perfectly into my hand. Set aside to cool in a pile of sand. Use the rest of the sap and add bubbly coral bubbles to it in bursts; beat with straw whisk to soft peaks. Let simmer; when turned gelatinous, beat again. Let simmer. Put lid on cauldron; remove from high heat.

Two-membrane bulkhead- one to go in next to Merry’s hull, the other to go outside the bubble-wrap. Make it out of silk; draw out the lines of it in the sand, will tie onto Merry far above the waterline, on the deck proper. And the net for the bubble-wrap; sheet-bend knots for squares of such a size as to fit just enough around the palm of my hand. Tape of silk to tie the shell to my hand; mix wax to the still warm seasap to drench the sheets in. All the spiders from the ship. All of them. Aaaaaaall of them.

Basically the beach is blackened in crawling, hairy spiders. Sanji is very firmly not looking at the ground. He’s been staring just above my head or up at the sky. Oh he’s holding a sandwich and fruit plate; that’s really considerate of him. Let’s see- there’s a boulder that overlooks the sea. Take the edge of his sleeve in my hand and tug him over. Take the plate and take a seat- pat the spot next to me. Sanji settles in next to me. I eat the sandwich; it’s fish and veggies and very delicious, he’s a good cook. Taffy bounds up to us, a live crab in her mouth- whoops, not anymore. Her whole body wiggles with happiness when she sees me. She is so graceful, it's really a joy to watch her move.

Cloudfoxes are so cute. Ugh, my neck’s starting to cramp; using so many bugs at once is- not fun. Taffy has eaten basically everything edible on the crab now. And now she’s inslitherated her way into my lap and ACK NO NO NO FISH BREATH CLOUDFOX KISSES AAUGH dammit Taffy! Hmhmhmhmhmhm! Uuugh! My skin’s all slippery from the treesap and cloudfox slobber.

Since I’m here, I might as well play the flute for a bit. Now that I’m safely remembering more, it’s also safe to remember music- except this is mantra, not music. This one is the  [ Gayatari Mantra ](https://youtu.be/X6czBEQi73c) \- not necessarily played at the right time, but… well. It’s hard to discern time down here. Lots of things are hard.

Anyway, I’ve been working since midnight- and this mantra is meant for sunrise and sunset. There’s a lot I’ve just- forgotten. And- it is appropriate to pray, when undertaking tasks of grim importance. I don’t remember, right now, what it is I’ve done- but I know I feel such a great remorse for it, I could drown under it. This mantra has many purposes- sometimes to exalt the Sun and invite it’s wisdom; sometimes for expiation of a sin; many things. You can pray for many reasons. I don’t know why, exactly, I’m praying.

I don't remember why I need to pray.

 

The dawn’s light hits my eyes. I eat the rest of the food my husband made for me. I clean my flute and put it away. I rest. When I open my eyes again, my spiders are not finished- but Sanji is hugging me, wrapped his arm around my waist and pressed his hand to my side, rubbing fingers against my skin.

 

“Sanji?”

“Just wanted to hug you.”

“Okay.”

 

We sit there together for a while- until mid-afternoon I’d say. Early afternoon maybe? I lean into him, rest my head on his shoulder. The rest of the crew was probably doing something, but- I was enjoying just sitting with my husband watching the sea. Priorities. I have them.

  
  


Okay- the membranes are ready, and the net is tied; so glad I figured out how to make ants do it. Just have to fold everything, put things in place, and that should do it. That’s if I can manage everything without some major disaster striking. I untie my shawl from my hips, wrap up my sword and kusarigama in it; tie on a weight belt and thigh panniers. Fill them with my tools; pinch ties, a thin coil of cordage. Some Breath Dials; a small Jet Dial and Heat Dials, just in case the cracks are worse than I expect. Crabspiders I made before anything else; amphibious spiders that can weave thread underwater. There’s a specific kind of repair I’m going to attempt, a sort of sturdy sheet inside a malleable caulking type deal- normally it’d be done from the inside of the ship, but, well- Usopp did those. Usopp doesn’t know how to actually repair ships at all, and Merry… at this point in time, Merry is being held together by Usopp’s amature repairs more than anything else.

Doing ship repair underwater isn’t necessarily my idea of a good time. Still; I went to a military boarding school focused on engineering, so it’s not like I don’t know the safe way to do this. I do. It wasn’t what I focused on in school, but I still learned- all the students did, it was part of the fundamentals.

Crabby’s coming with me down there; her back-bag is perfect for carrying the bulkheads and the bubble-net. Which means-

 

“I need to leave my weapons up here. Will you look after them for me?”

“Of course. Um-”

“The spiders will handle themselves, Sanji. Get Usopp or Zoro to move the hive further up the beach. … It’s okay, you know.”

“It’s really not. But- okay. See you in a bit.”

“Yep. Kiss?”

“Kiss kiss.”

 

I load Crabby with a folded bulkhead, fill Milky Dials with cloud-caulk and select large Wet Dials and hoses for the dials and small sacks with sand and the cooled cloud-gum; load the net and the Dials and the sand and another coil of rope. Last bulkhead loaded, Falkor on my back; spiders return to their hive and the bulkheads folded up into the special folded shapes that will then unfold underwater in a very specific way. Tie the shell to my hand with the tape; the net and a massive awl, and my new  [ helmet with attached overts ](https://a1-images.myspacecdn.com/images02/23/a61a73546a314ffba74e5d677e096896/300x300.jpg) \- the gas-shell actually slides into it, so I don’t have to wear the gimp-straps anymore. I use the loose belts to secure my other supplies; some cordage, a Water Dial full of the remaining sap, as it’s for an entirely different purpose. I’m wearing my sleeping shoes, which are better for running around underwater than my boots; and my long sleeve swimsuit. My sword and kusarigama are left with Sanji in my shawl; I gather the repair supplies, nod once to myself, and walk into the sea.

The end structure I’m working towards is basically the scales of a fish; Merry’s cracks are… extensive. I’m going to think about something else while I do this.

 

Because Sky Blue is dominated by Fairy culture, some things are just- a given. I could travel anywhere in Sky Blue and some concepts I just- wouldn’t have to explain. An  _ ouna _ is the feminine form of a parent- a  _ fauna _ is the masculine. Fairies don’t really have gender the same way they do in the Low Blues; males start their own lines of sucession, while females continue them. That’s really about it- you can declare for yourself which way you want to go when you turn seventeen, and are allowed to marry at twenty or when social maturity is conferred. Titania declared himself male, and what a mess that was- augh. Ow, ow ow ow. Ooow.

 

Changelings are called such because of the various tribes of Sky Blue, of which there are distinctly four; Cherumibs, Fairies, Djinn, and Sirens.

Cherumibs come from Birka originally, a country on one of the moons- during Titania’s reign, they came down and settled in what is now Skypiea. The Moon’s People have the wings of birds on their back, and produce warrior-poets and the builders of great works. They are characterized by sexual maturity being conferred in mass ceremonies- aerial races, mass marriages, and so on. The consensus is that maturity is something that must be witnessed.

Fairies, like myself, hail from Fair Isle in the Home of the Winds. Our sexual maturity has to do with our wings and what we declare ourselves as- our wings denote actual physical maturity, and are considered to be (when not in use for flight) a very sexualized part of the body. Technically, they are secondary sexual characteristics, but considering the sheer amount of sensory nerves in a single wing, it’s not a stretch to say that wing-play is a standard part of most sexual overtures. However, general wing touches are part and parcel of Fairy life. Declarations come at the traditional age of seventeen; this is usually a visual declaration represented by color. Natural, neutral colors denote femininity, while bright, vibrant colors denote masculinity- and a mixture of the two extremes is always acceptable of course.

Djinn are a desert people- they hail from the high Steppes of the Far North, but have since scattered to such places as Baltigo, or the great Sandora. Their cities are hidden from normal sight, but are generally made of brass, glass, or some other reflective structure. A Djinni, being of the Air and of Fire, tends to be most concerned with dancing or moving in general- they’re a wanderlustful people, and their great cities stand empty except for special occasions. Like Cherumibs, sexual maturity is conferred in a group or social setting- in this case, a series of dances the youth perform to declare willingness or unwillingness to entertain overtures of a sexual or romantic nature.

Sirens are the last of the Sky’s peoples- generally more concerned with living near the ground, Sirens are known in some places as battle-field lurkers; in others, they’re known to run ships aground. Hailing originally from the Florian Triangle's misty miasma, all agree that a Siren’s voice is intoxicating. Sexual maturity in a Siren is aural and audible- their hearing and their voices change drastically; the hypnotic qualities of their voices are only present in fully matured individuals.

 

A changeling, being born of magic and not the womb, can be any of the Sky’s people- completely disregarding the genetics involved in their creation. Even though Merry has genes from each member of the crew, she could come out being any of the four tribes of Skua- or she could come out a mermaid, or any other tribe of the human race. Anything’s possible after all, and my crewmates’ inclusion allows for such disparate results. My sister Aradia is a Siren- although her tone-deafness did remove a lot of power from her voice, her skillful way with words meant that she didn’t have to sing to get someone to hear her. Ow. That’s not right. Ow ow ow.

During the creation of a changeling, something always goes wrong. Usually what goes wrong is reflected in the changeling- something simple, like mismatched eyes or a strange haircolor, or, more likely, a behavioral issue. There have been stranger effects recorded- the first Mab, for example, who pioneered the creation of changelings, was famous for creating at the least five in one go when most fairies need to group up to create just one. What I mean to say is- when I was young, I showed a talent for creation, which is why I was sent to Military Engineering School. The strict discipline and extensive learning I underwent was in response to- to- Dandelion. My cloudfox Dandelion.

I had a cloudfox before and I raised her from a kit she was a gift for my fifth birthday and Aradia was so jealous of me but I didn’t understand why- she had her own  [ skimmer ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/64/82/89/648289aea5907c74031fd7c0670dc7e5.jpg) to learn to use and- and she- I, I, I, owwwwww. Ow ow ow. Okay. I’ll stop trying to force it. Ow. Press the bubbles into the net and tie it in place, Mab, stop trying to remember things by force. I’ll just hurt myself trying that.

 

I’m not sure what’s going to happen when I make Merry; I know she won’t be Going Merry anymore. She can’t be. She’ll keep the ‘Merry’ part of her name; it’s a reasonably common name in Sky Blue, it won’t raise too many eyebrows. As for her history-name, I’m not sure… something resilient, carrying my wish for her future… something that won’t trip too strangely off the tongue…  [ Reed ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mary_Read) maybe? Hmm.

  
  


‘Merry Reed.’

‘Huh?’

‘I was just thinking of what your name would be if you were-’

‘Oh. Merry Reed?’

‘Yeah. ...is it okay?’

‘I like it, I think. If this doesn’t work out… I’d like to have that name.’

‘Mm. ...How’s it feel?’

‘Slippery, kinda? A bit- a bit better, sort of. I just- it’s kinda… too late.’

‘Yeah. I figured. Still, I had to try. Why didn’t you say your keel was cracking?’

‘Because you’d have made me stop-’

‘Merry-’

‘I’M NOT WEAK! I’M- I’m not animate, I know that, okay? I- I know I wasn’t built to withstand the force of this ocean, b-but- I don’t care, I’m going to sail as far as I can with all of you, I, I-’

‘Okay.’

‘-i-if you think I- what?’

‘Okay. If you want to sail as our ship until you can’t anymore, I won’t stop you. I cannot put your spirit into the shell without your consent, after all. It’s- it’s your birthday, after all. I’ll do it as you like it, or not at all. It’s okay, Merry.’

‘...I. Thank you,  _ ouna _ Mav.’

 

And then she was quiet. Resting. I can cry underwater, but it fogs up my glasses something awful. Thankfully, I’d finished sealing the outer bulkhead in place- all that was left was the depression of the bubbles via water removal, and I can do that by touch. So, I did.

  
  
  


It turns out I worked for something like a full day straight? So, when I staggered from the waves, I needed to take a massive piss, eat something, and take a nap, in that order. My crewmates aren’t around on the beach- but Sanji left my weapons high on the boulder we sat on, with a note pinned underneath. I took care of my first need and read it- ah, they went exploring, and should be back by the evening. He’s left me a lunchbox- aha, right here. Good man, best husband.

It’s a pirate bento, mostly sliced veggies, a cut of some fish and I’m too hungry to really appreciate Sanji’s work I’m sorry Sanji- nomnomnom. So good.

Sleepy.

Nap time.

  
  
  


Oh hey, it’s the crew- oh, hey, what’s wrong with Robin, she’s freaking out what the hell, who is that? I only took off my gas-shell to eat, my helm’s still on it’s a useful piece of protective gear and no one’s really seen my face good thing Falkor’s still on my back- and who is that? Robin, Robin what’s wrong with Robin, don’t even take off my helm, just-

Who is that man, why is he here he’s freaking Robin out he’s strong he’s as strong as Madame Elphame and I never want to take Madame in a Fair fight she will kick my ass we’re in trouble who is thaaaaaaat-

That man looks like me he looks like me and he sounds like me who the fuck is that what what what he’s freaking out Robin is that why I scare her- who is that- Robin’s about to attack she’s terrified who is this asshole what-

 

“Trienta Fluer: Cluth!” and the man who looks like me shatters like a statue of ice cold and white and glittering and cold and cold and cold I, I, I, I-

  
  
  


_ -the third bullet that hit my wings wasn’t made of metal, but of ice- the shock of it held me perfectly still Aradia Aradia she she she took a knife and she she she cut my wings off she cut my wings off and threw me from the garden into the cloud sea and I fell and fell and fell- the foaming waters between the mountains shone just like that and- and- and- _

 

[ _ I can’t fix you _ ](https://youtu.be/kXMwZNRiPe0) _. _

  
  


_ I remember, now. I want I want I want to be- not here I want to be somewhere that isn’t here I want- Titania I’m sorry I’m so sorry- _

  
  
  


_ When Fairies grieve, their hair turns white.  _

 

_ The last day I can remember with anything approaching clearness- the day my sister shot me- what led to those wicked events is better not spoken of. However, I cannot escape the memories of what I did, and what was done to me. I cannot make any excuse for my actions- they were mine, my actions. Aradia, my younger sister, upstanding member of the clergy, did her best to advise myself, a lowly warrior-builder. It is my shame that I was unable to use her advice in the best manner possible. _

_ I had just begun my tenure as the de-facto Chief of the Docks when the news came from the Palace that Titania, my elder, had declared himself Himself, and was leaving the ancient succession for one of his own. This was well within his right, although a bit irregular- such declarations generally come during the seventeenth year, and we were all of us- Titania, Aradia, and myself- sixteen. Still, owing to his status as a ranking noble in court, indeed, the ranking noble, it was perhaps his way of being considerate of his younger sisters. _

_ The lines of succession are predicted by adherence to a series of mantra- generally taught as simple musical tunes that each of us learned as children. Titania and I had excelled at the general learning, with only myself showing any aptitude for the knowledge held within their aural mnemonics; Aradia, on the other wing, had no ear for the tunes at all, and so had to learn the knowledge by rote. _

 

_ Looking back, I cannot remember what advice Aradia gave me, what she told me the best course of action to do was- nor do I remember now, in the After, why I took my brother’s hair. Why I was so certain- I’m sure there was some justification for breeding with my brother, but as of now I cannot recall what it was. I do recall the civil dispute that turned into a full on war, and how it ravaged the country- Titania had been convinced by Aradia, disinterested third party, to give his hair to be entwined with mine in the creation of a child to uphold the blood of our fore-mothers. With the war, Titania became unwilling to participate in the creation of our child- but, having been given the go-ahead, I had already created it. Them. With Titania’s repudiation, the shell of the changeling child crumbled- and, panicked, I begged Aradia to help it. Being of the clergy, Aradia is learned in magics far beyond my own- and so she inserted the weakening egg in my protective womb. It was a stifling and officious ceremony, her voice a droning chant far unlike my own melodious tones- then again, Aradia truly has no ear for music, and I could feel her magic working regardless. _

_ When word reached Titania of our actions that day, he was- horrified. He swore he would kill the abomination growing within me- Aradia told me so. I am ashamed to admit it, but at the time I could not understand his horror- and so I swore I would kill him long before he ever got the chance to do such a thing.  _

_ Oh Titania. I'm sorry, my brother. I'm so sorry. _

 

_ Our battle was fierce and destructive- even now, I doubt parts of the island of Fair Isle will ever be the same as they were, as stable as they were. We tore each other and our surroundings apart in a vicious battle- and at the last, before I beheaded my older brother, he told me to hold onto my Anchor. That if I was so committed to bringing forth such a thing unto the world, it was my responsibility from thence forward. He would have no part in it, nor it him. And so I cut his head off. _

_ Titania, my brother, I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. _

_ Maybe if I say it enough, it’ll actually become true. _

 

_ He was given unto the care of Granny Una, in the Grottoes of Folx-les-Caves. His spirit rides the winds still, of course, but his flesh is interred in that ancient grave of our people. _

_ I moved into the palace not a week later, and settled into a long pregnancy. Our war and final battle had disrupted the country quite badly- I was seventeen, and for the next year I worked tirelessly to restore our people’s sense of normality. I can only hope something of my efforts succeeded. Sometime during the first weeks of my long year, I was informed- Aradia informed me- that the Final Battle had destroyed a large portion of the reserve saffron marked for the common use. Saffron, being so vital to Fairy health- and the subject of another war not ten years previous- is kept in several reserves, one of which is the Royal reserve. Being in a mood of general atonement and generosity, I told Aradia to distribute the saffron reserved for Royal use to the commons, and she did. _

_ In the final month of my pregnancy, I fell- was pushed- down the stairs. The egg sack, so fragile, broke open inside of me, and the little being within that I had so carefully protected was lost. The agony was sufficient to disperse my consciousness for a period of six weeks- and when I woke, it was to a flattened stomach and no baby. My brother, and every part of him, was truly gone now. The doctors told me no permanent damage had been done to my womb; in time, given a year or so to build up reserves, I could easily bear another. _

 

_ I suppose a kind of fog overtook me- I surely must have eaten, and drank, and done all the necessary things- but my spirit was wounded so greatly… I do not remember how I came to be in the winter garden of the palace, a shimmering world of white mist. The dawn was looking to be one of purest gold, and in the weak winter light the ice shined shined it shined and shined in the light- just like  _ **_that-_ ** _ and Aradia was there. And she told me- she told me that it was her who had brought it all, her who had brought such a thing to pass- _

 

_ When fairies grieve, their hair turns white. I remember now. _

 

_ Aradia didn’t shoot my wings off- they’re too tough for that, or mine were, she couldn’t have. No, Aradia shot them with liquid nitrogen bullets, which froze the joint. And then she broke the joint and tore them from my still living body. It’s one thing to do such to a dead and defeated enemy, deserving of no honorable burial. It’s quite another to do such to a still living fairy. I- I- _

  
  


_ It is now, looking back, that I understand my brother’s true horror. It’s not what Aradia said it was- if ever we meet again, the law is quite clear.  _

  
  


_ I’m going to kill her. If ever we meet again, I’m going to kill her. She lied and convinced me to rape my older brother, killed my baby, and raped me. If I ever meet her again, I’m going to kill her. _

  
  


_ I- I remember, now. I- I _ \- I- I- I’m going to be sick, I’m going to- no I’m not, I- Robin was saying something, but he’s grabbed her in a bear hug and his body his body froze she’s frozen Robin oh no-

I can think about what I’ve remembered later.

You know, it doesn’t really matter if he’s as strong as Madame Elphame. It doesn’t. I never defeated Nana Elphe in a fight because  _ I never wanted to _ .

 

I blink, and  **Blink** and score a line of blood across his face shit shit shit he’s way stronger than I thought he’s stronger than me I’m not going to win- and the world- pauses. I take in his hands, covered in ice. I take in our positions. Robin is behind me, and only half frozen; with medical attention, she will live. The man’s arm is rearing back in space, turning a glossy, cold blue. His Intention is to strike us both, but not necessarily to kill- however, Robin’s spirit is wavering and I have a weakness to the cold. If I do not act, Robin will be coated in another wave of ice, which will almost certainly kill her. I must take the full blow myself.

I stretch myself and cover Falkor in my blackshining- there’s a name for it but- no, what’s important right now is- is- the thing I learned to do at school. I went to the feeder school for the Fair Isle Corp of Air and Navy Engineers. That school turns out doctors, civil servants, and engineers of all kinds; and I took doctor courses as a hobby. I’m not a doctor- I didn’t quite make it through a doctorial residency, and they don’t give you the fancy labcoat without that experience; but I am a midwife. I do know enough medicine to know the exact structures of my body- as it was and should be.

Aradia doesn’t get to win. The man in front of me doesn’t get to win. I cannot win here- but that doesn’t mean they will either. I transmute Falkor’s flesh into my own, right where amputation scar meets chitin; I flood my body with Falkor’s stores of glycerol. I Blink my-our-my wings into the X-Block formation, stretch them wide- and then- and then-

 

The ice hits me in the gut. I freeze into a pillar.

And then I fall.

My outstretched wings shatter on the ground. I do not. The brooding lump on my back does not. The sharp double agony of my returned memories and my hasty actions is sufficient to knock me from conscious thought.

The last thing I really remember is being cold.


	13. Fountainhead

Mother- Harriet Morgan- told me once that my  _ fauna _ was Portgas D. Albreich Ravelle, The Weaponer, Chief of the Docks. I look nothing like him. That’s not right- ow! 

I look almost exactly like the man who hurt Robin and myself. And Harriet “Harry” Morgan has been a Shichibukai for a long, long time. (When you’re twenty, fifty years is a long time to be alive, even if thirty of those years were in service to a government you don’t consider Lawful.)

-Wait, is Aokiji an Admiral or Vice Admiral? I don’t actually remember. Hm. Not sure if it matters either way.

 

This bed is soft and very warm oh god I’m cold- heartbeat, heartbeat, I’d know it anywhere, that’s- Sanji- I’m safe then. Don’t be so hasty, Mab, you always end up in trouble when you do that. So.

My mother was a privateer (with a focus on marauding), but privateering is not recognized as a concept in the Lower Blues, much less the Line. So she was called a pirate; the Rum Runner. I know for a fact that she was in a polyambiguous relationship with the Breaker of Hearts and the Pirate King; I don’t know enough details however. Aradia told me she died in a landslide. The woman who taught me to fly died in a landslide. I- I remember I never quite trusted Aradia. Why did I listen to her- she’s a Siren, even tone deaf, so she must still have a Siren’s magic- but-

I don’t need to find my mother. It would be nice to know for sure, but- I don’t have any idea where to look for my mother. I do, however, know where to find my Great-grandmother, Una. Just like I know ‘Morgan’, my mother’s name, is a corruption of her name; which is much older and still strikes fear into the hearts of those on these lower seas.

Mór-ríoghain, my grandmother.

It’ll be nice to talk to her again.

Oh dear, I really did insult Ace, didn’t I? Damn. I’ll have to really apologize to him. At the very least, I’ll have to explain my rudeness... (It's nothing to do with Ace at all, and _everything_ to do with Spa- Ara- Spad- ow ow ow ow ow.)

  
  


Hypothermia is: reduced body temperature that happens when a body dissipates more heat than it absorbs. In humans, merfolk, and giants, it is defined as a body core temperature below 35.0 °C (95.0 °F). Symptoms depend on the temperature; in mild hypothermia there is shivering and mental confusion; in moderate hypothermia, shivering stops and confusion increases; in severe hypothermia there may be paradoxical undressing, in which a person removes his or her clothing, as well as an increased risk of the heart stopping.

In Fairies, Hypothermia can only be contracted by an individual who has lost their wings, or has not flensed. Mostly young children are at risk, or- well, me, considering. With the addition, and sacrifice, of Falkor, thick coils of veins and a multitude of enzymes from inside my body- changing the glycerol I used to mitigate the effects of That Man’s attacks into glucose, and then into starches. When the time comes, the chitinous eletra-like outer shell Falkor is morphing into will break in a combination of age and internal pressure- tiny muscles and nerves are being created as I doze.

It is indescribably painful. Each time a new line of nerves sparks on, I can feel myself shake. It’s enough to send me into a meditative state- for the next twenty eight hours, unless absolutely necessary for me to do, I’m going to sleep. Well, no, not really- I’ll be awake enough to talk to people I think, but I won’t necessarily be coherent.

 

“Sanji, y’have to make the jelly I’ll tell the recipe, but have to make the recipe for Merry have to give her what I couldn’t before she deserves a chance Sanji Sanji you’re best husband I could ask for really I mean-”

“Shh... That's enough now. What’s the recipe, Mav?”

“ _ Blend honey and tallow and saffron grains numbering five; stir until the liquid is of the sunrise in complexion. Let cool and leave whole until the Making _ .”

“Okay. I’ll take care of it. -Why can’t Chopper touch your back?”

“Healing  _ Chrytsalis _ don’t touch it s’healing.”

“Okay. How long are you going to be like this?”

“Twenny-eight hourz. Nnngh.”

“Is there a food that would help-?”

“Feed for ‘nemia. High fats an’ sugars. FFfshit. Increase overall vitamin cont’nt. Rrrgh.”

“Feed for anemia and have a  high fat content, increased vitamins?”

“Nhm. Ffffshit. Whoo. Big nerve cluster growing back. Vitamin content should be upped like for pregnancy- talk to Chopper about what that means. I’m gonna be useless for as long as nerves are growing back, anyway. The wing ship was always sailing itself- being suddenly hypothermic just jumpstarted my growth.”

“So- right, you’d have grown your wings back by next year anyway-”

“Not quite. It would have been my wing-joints that popped out next, thanks to Sakura Kingdom; my wings would have taken a good two years normally. I’ve been feeling them coming back for ages, really- and it would have happened sooner, but the Twin Capes has a subtropical climate. My joint was ready to go either way, I just… expedited.”

“So- what, no winter, no wings?”

“Mhm. Gnngh.”

“Is there a painkiller you could take, or-”

I shake my head.

Sanji sighs underneath me.

 

“I don’t like seeing you in pain.”

“I don’t like  _ being _ in pain. Ff. Small one that time. Painkillers would make it take longer, ironically, and they’d make my wings weaker. It’s like shin splints.”

“Ugh.”

“Mhm.”

Sanji sighs again.

“So, I guess I’ll go make that- mixture. That’s not a jelly recipe, nor will it make a jelly.”

“Mhm. Nnngh. Kissssssfff.”

“Kiss kiss. ...try to get some rest, love.”

“...kay. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

  
  
  


 

 

 

There’s not a lot I really ever have to think about it. Luffy’s the next Pirate King, I’m going to be the World’s Greatest Swordsman- not things I need to think about. Merry’s dying- fact. Nami’s a money grubbing sea witch- meant kindly, still fact. Chopper’s doing his best- fact. Usopp has an inferiority complex- fact.

Robin, unfortunately, is someone I have to put some thought into. So’s Sanji, and oddly enough, Mab. Hmph. Our archaeologist, our cook, and our seamstress. ~~(I'm not thinking about Nami she's not important and I- I don't have- desire is, is not something I have, it's _fine.)_~~

 

Easiest first; Sanji and Mab. I thought Sanji was just a shallow love cook, but Mab’s induction to the crew proved that wrong; then it was ‘Sanji’s a weirdo’. Then I learned Sanji’s from the North Blue, and things started clearing up. Mab’s a fairy- that was pretty obvious from the start. Fairies have this very distinctive hip to shoulder ratio, and their waists are always much wider than most other tribes or races would be. There’s… looking at Mab, she’s obviously lost some kind of strength, but, there’s a serious amount of supportive muscle in the middle of a Fairy’s body. And I know for a fact that North Blue was heavily conquered by Sky Blue at least twice, and probably several times more than that.

I- back when I was a kid, I used to… I wasn’t in a good place when Kuina died. I stopped training for- doesn’t matter. What does matter is that I spent that time sitting near her grave, reading stories to her. Kuina loved fairytales, probably because there was every chance the brave hero of the story would be a woman; and Kuina loved the stories where women became warriors and fought and defeated all their enemies, became the best of the best- she… She loved those stories. As a result, I know a lot of fairy-lore, fairy stories- just, a lot about fairies, which isn’t all that useful in East Blue; East Blue was never important to the Sky’s People. North Blue was.

Which means until I learned that Sanji was born in the North Blue, I couldn’t quite trust him. Something about him rang very false- couldn’t put my finger on what. But the North never quite submitted to the Sky’s rule, and Sanji talks like he’s from the  [ Farnort ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XqKn5HXxeLA) (where resistance was most strong)- or he does when he’s pissed off, exhausted- he drops articles, rolls his R’s and spits his W’s as V’s. Except he also tries to keep up this near North accent at all other times (where assimilation happened during the first conquest)- so when he’s really tired, what comes out is this mashup of accents. But not one word mashing into another, no, it’s word-specific- ah, I see. When he’s talking about cooking, it’s all near North  [ sounds, ](https://youtu.be/Tw89DzP4RTs?t=55s) but when he’s fighting me, out comes the harsher tones. 

It’s great. 

He’s always so mad when he realizes he’s done it too, it’s the funniest thing.

 

Mab  [ doesn’t ](https://youtu.be/OoF4i77kPak) talk like that. Which is also very interesting to listen to, especially when she curses- because it’s so rare, you really get to hear the just- she does something with the prepositions… And sometimes she talks in a very distinct language that isn’t quite the Common Tongue- I can hear words that sound almost like words I know, but they aren’t quite. It’s also interesting to note that Mab spells her name M-A-B, but it  _ sounds _ like M-A-V. Lingual drift?

Is it weird that I like this kind of thing? I know I spend most of my thoughts on swordsmanship and the crew and Captain, but- I can have a hobby, right? That’s not weird.

 

What’s important is that I realized Mab had to be important to Sanji before Sanji did. I’m never, ever letting him forget it. Dumb cook was so busy avoiding her he completely missed her actual interest until it was actually shoved in his face.  **That** was  **_funny_ ** . 

-He treated her differently. That was the only real thing- but he treats every woman he sees a certain way, and Mab’s very clearly a woman. Men don’t have hips like that. Sometime in Alabasta, Sanji started treating Mab very, very differently- like he saw everyone as slightly- I hesitate to say inferior. I want to believe Sanji is better than that. He's becoming better than that- but... I don't know. It's like he found out something about Mab and  _couldn't_ treat her like any other woman of his acquaintance .

 

She’s a smart one, Mab- doesn’t miss a damn thing. Her face may be blank, but her eyes don’t stop moving- and she’ll replace my clothing before I’ve realized it was starting to go. She’ll talk and talk and she won’t say a damn thing either- even without her sparkly bug necklace, she didn’t really say all that much. I’ve seen her be doing the washing and playing ‘tag’ with the Kiddies using her bugs, and she doesn’t miss a beat- no one gets stung, and everything gets clean. Has a good sense of humor, and she’s strong, too. She only really uses soap to get smells and stains out of fabric- all the dirt and so on is straight beaten out with a paddle. I’m not very good at it, but she lets me help sometimes. I thought it would be good training, and now I can’t quite back out of doing it every other time.

Her pets are smart too- Crabshelly, because more often than not, Shelly is riding around on Crabby’s back, can, has, and will go get me my sword cleaning kit when it’s that time of day; gets me drinks too, when I ask. Taffy- snerk- is a sweet little thing, always good for a hug if someone’s feeling down. Very nice to pet too, and usually settles down mid-afternoon to nap with me. And her various hives- the ants, the termites, the colony of scorpions, Scarf, and the Danger Ladies- those are fucking terrifying. Scarf in particular is just… like if a housecat was much more likely to eat you while you were alive? Just. It sizes people up, I’ve seen it do it. Other people have seen it do it. Which is why Mab wears it as a scarf I guess? 

The woman’s scary.

Mab had to be important to Sanji because they behave the same way about things- but from opposite directions, I guess. Like, after Mab declared her interest, it didn’t really surprise me that they ended up hitched- it was honestly more surprising that they didn’t say anything first. But Sanji- he’s relaxed a lot since he’s gotten married, like something he was worrying about doesn’t matter now. He doesn’t wear his suit-jacket all the time, rolls his shirtsleeves up and just leaves them- I’ve got money riding with Usopp about when he’s going to cut down on the smoking. It’s coming up- Mab doesn’t really like it, I’ve seen the face she makes when she smells him smoking. She shakes it off quick, but a guy can only take so much before he changes something if he wants to keep a girl happy- and girls don’t like it when you’re stupid at them.

 

So Mab’s sick or something- Sanji doesn’t really share details about Mab without her there to stop him if he goes too far; Mab doesn’t really share details about Sanji without him there to stop her. Like I thought, they’re… right for each other. It’s weird until you see them together, then it’s just cute. Odd considering how fast it was, but not actually bad. And we are pirates- if they want to get married to each other, I won’t stop them. Our lives are dangerous, after all- if their happiness lies together, well, okay.

 

 

Robin doesn’t share anything about herself. Something about the man who let us go- Aokiji, a Vice Admiral- scares her. There’s a slight tremor that comes over her when she sits for any length of time. Nami’s trying to pretend everything is okay; Usopp’s too worried about Merry to notice. Sanji, of course, is doting on Mab hand and foot- and unlike when he fakes it for Nami and Robin, for Mab he genuinely means it. And in this case, I don’t doubt Mab genuinely needs to be doted on- she doesn’t accept Sanji’s advances when he-

 

Sound. Loud sound. Storm front? Wrong sound. Rumbling- earthslide? How? Grandline- not impossible. Verify. Not earthslide. Train? Train on the water- how. Where- tracks. Trains need tracks. Tracks- there. Sailing alongside them. Train- oncoming. Going to hit? No. Near miss- yes. Scrape? No, near miss. Big frog- will hit train, but not ship. Brace for spray.

 

“Pffft.”

Salty.

Lady and her- Ms. Kokoro; Chimney, granddaughter . Is that a cat or a rabbit? Doesn’t matter. Have to sail around the back of the city to avoid the Marines. Damn blue-bloods. Luffy gave Nami the map Ms. Kokoro gave him. Sea-witch is gifted with navigational tools in hand. ~~Sh~~ ~~ e's also very beautiful and smart and strong and- ~~

  
  


The island city of Water 7 is a love letter to the ocean. It’s a terraced city- there are people living in every level, even the highest levels, and working in every level, even the lowest levels. Each fountain ring is it’s own walled city, manned with countless masses of people; a city on a hill that grew and grew until the city was the hill, and the hill, the city. Even sailing around it’s countless docks, I can feel- the hustling call of metal on metal, iron workers; a blacksmith shoeing a horse. When I fought in Alabasta, I learned to hear the metal of the world- and now I’m… Maybe having a little trouble making it turn on and off when I want. So, I train it. I try not to listen to  _ Merry _ often; she’s… not doing well.

There’s a marketplace but it spans every ring of the city; water cascades against smoothed stones, and the city shines. This would be a hard place to attack. Each layer of the city is like it’s own garrison, shining waters aside; it’d be almost impossible to take and keep one ring of the city without the others rising up to free it again. Even the outer ring of the docks is a hard target. I can hear the brassy clink of bullets in their casings; the chime of nails on nails in tin buckets; the quiet dignity of tools at work or ready to work or being made or resting and all of them made of heavy iron and shining aluminum and- solid brass rollers squeezing… candy? Interesting, I hadn’t realized.

We dock  _ Merry _ in a grimy area of the docks, near the edge of the city; not easy to sneak up on us or them. Smart. Near a scrapyard- acceptable loss for battle site? Small beach, black sand; not fun to fight on. Sharp sand. Will abrade skin if fallen on.

 

Stepping off onto shore with my crewmates, I’m in position to really  **_see_ ** _ Merry; _  the steel wrapping around the limbs that grab the wind to pull us through the water, the shimmer of scales in cloth that Mab tied onto her not one day before... Her sails and rigging shine in the light, but her hull- I can see cracks beneath the white cloth. I’ve been in the hold- there’s no water coming through. But  _ Merry _ all but groans- if I listen closely, I can hear the soft moan of nails and screws being bent by the force of the water on her breaking wood. 

It’s decided that I’ll stay with her-  _ Merry _ ’s not… not looking good, but we can’t leave her alone like that, not unless…

So long as we don't know for sure, there's still a chance that Going Merry the Ship can be saved.

 

Sanji and Mab emerge from within  _ Merry _ , Mab wrapped in a sheet and riding piggyback on Sanji. Her head is hooked over his shoulder, and a frown is furrowing his brow. Oh wow- I’ve seen Mab stitch her fingers together with that archaic torture device she calls a sewing machine; dislocate the joints in her hands accidentally; scrape bloody swathes across her skin; even when a galvanized nail the length of my hand went through her leg, the most she did was swear quietly and then either fix it herself or, with the nail, have Chopper fix it- and all the while, wearing that characteristic blank face. For her to be outright wincing- what kind of pain must she be feeling?

Still, she refuses to sit it out- and considering she’s the one who can actually talk to  _ Merry _ , it might be for the best that she goes with the consultation crew.

With Mab’s bugs on the ship still, there’s no chance of anyone stealing anything on it- and with Merry in such obvious dire straits, I can’t imagine anyone with anything approaching sense taking it. Even so, someone has to stay with the ship. 

Which is why I’m resting on a post in the shade cast by her hull; ' someone' usually turns out to be me, Sanji, or Mab when it comes to responsibility, if Captain doesn’t end up taking it. So, usually me, Sanji, or Mab- sometimes Nami, but mostly us.

 

I watch my crewmates ride out on little boats to find a shipwright; I wouldn’t be able to find my way around the city without someone steering me wrong, and someone has to stay with the ship. Nami bitched about the price of the three water taxi’s they were taking and the docking price as usual, but her heart wasn’t really in it. Robin didn’t say anything at all; she hasn’t said anything since she was defrosted. Captain hasn’t missed a thing, but he won’t act until the time’s right. I guess- when Robin’s ready to accept his help, he’ll help. That’s how it went with everyone else- that’s… more or less how it went with me, even.

I watch the edge of the city. If I had to describe the city- which no one will probably ever ask me to, but if I did- I’d describe it as like a wedding cake; pillars of stone rising from delicate gardens, wide pools of blue tile interspersed with empty squares. The city was probably a military base at the very start, with villages cropping up outside it for the soldiers stationed there to enjoy their leave time in; and then something must have changed, or maybe there was a chance attack of morals or pirates or some such, and the village got a real wall. The walled town’s undesirables spilled out beyond the wall, and the whole process repeated; until finally, we’re here today, pirates docked at the very worst edge of the shining city. The city really does shine- all that water, moving in sprays and fountains, catches the light like a silvery fish’s scales. The whole of this city- look at it out of the corner of your eye, and it would shimmer in blue, green, white and gold. Of course, no one’s going to ask me about what I think of this place, and if they did, I wouldn’t say all of that. I’d probably say something inane, like ‘it’s nice’ or whatever. I’m not very articulate except about sword fighting, I guess? Maybe I’ll ask Mab to make me a journal too- Robin hasn’t let hers out of her hands or sight the few times I’ve even seen it.

It’s interesting- Mab, Sanji, and I are very similar in distinctive ways. Robin too- all the crew, really. In our areas of expertise, we do things with a strange and mesmerizing sort of skill; for some of us, like Usopp, doing what we were meant to do, what we chose we were meant to do, is akin to watching a great dancer or painter work at their trade. It’s- inscrutable, in the moment, yet- beautiful. Seeing Mab sew with her hands, or weave a band- seeing Sanji cook- seeing Robin handle some ancient remain from long ago- Nami navigate the rolling waves- Chopper administer aid to his patient- Usopp shoot without thinking or missing- Luffy being the captain of our merry crew of idiots- the purity of focus, the sheer grace of form. For Mab, at least in her handling of a spear- which I could recognize as mastery- it was sufficient to make angels weep. Or- cherumibs, I guess.

I think… I think I will ask Mab to make me a journal or two. Mab tends to do better when she has some idea of what we want- I trust her, of course, but she does better when she has an idea. Maybe three journals- one for crew stuff, one for sword stuff, and one for just- stuff. We have a log book, but it’s not complete- Nami started writing it when she officially joined, but there are things she wasn’t present for. Hm. Maybe she’ll be able to redo the log we have now? It won’t necessarily be accurate- so maybe I’ll ask her to make a romantic log for the crew, and a book for my swords, and a book just for me. I- when I fought Mihawk, for a moment during his strike, I was almost sure I would die. He only scored a line across my bones- he didn’t touch my organs beneath. It hurt, it hurt like nothing else- but I didn’t die. I just wasn’t sure I would live. I might not live to make it to Mihawk- I’m not doubting myself, it’s just fact. Anything could happen. What I will make happen is irrelevant- it’s like… if I tried going near the hives without Mab’s assistance. Luffy tried to get honey out of the Danger Ladies’ hive. If we didn’t have Chopper, he almost certainly would have died; it’s like that.

I don’t- at the very least, I want there to be a record of my style, how to train for the Santoryu. So that’s one book for that- and I don’t want to just jump into writing it. I- Kuina left me her sword, and her book. The summer after she died, I read it to her every day. I read it to her in all kinds of weather, at all hours- and eventually, the book fell apart in my hands. I’d memorized the stories by then, but- it’d be nice, to have a tangible copy of it again. I’ve never found that particular book again, it’s- it’s almost like that wasn’t really a printed book. The writing was so pretty though, just like a printed book- hm. So… maybe while we’re at a big island hub like this, I’ll get myself a regular journal or two and only ask Mab for the pretty books when I’m ready to write them for real.

How did it go again?  [ Ah, yes… ](http://endicottstudio.typepad.com/poetrylist/femmes-sauvage-by-johnny-clewell.html) I’ll dedicate that one to Kuina, maybe? She always loved that one. For myself, I always liked the Grimm Poems, especially after Kuina died. It's the one that goes... like...

 

[ _ When _ ](http://www.endicott-studio.com/poetrylist/grimm-poems-by-joseph-stanton.html) _ one of us dies,  _

_ let the one who lives _

_ travel underground _

 

_ to steal the three leaves _

_ from the secretest snake _

_ and place them _

 

_ gently but with haste _

_ at the three doorways _

_ of the cold body: _

 

_ one for the right eye, _

_ one for the left eye, _

_ one for the mouth. _

 

_ Both of us must swear to this _

_ or neither of us can _

_ live forever. _

  
-

 

_ This is the way the world should be. _

_ Beautiful daughters do not die. _

_ Instead, the universe stops with her breath, _

 

_ which becomes the timer for everything else, _

_ so that, when a miracle undoes her death, _

_ all of us- every father, every friend, _

 

_ every fly on the wall, every budding leaf- _

_ awaken to gather round her, to laugh _

_ with joy that she is here and so are we. _

  
  


-Yeah, that one. It would be good to have a book with that, at least, written down, and what I can remember of Kuina’s sword- it’s name, naturally; Wado Ichimonji. The history I can recall as well… it all deserves to be written down.

So- a better log book, and a book for my sword style and Kuina too, a little bit- and one just for me. Even if I never say any of the the things I think out loud, even if I can’t- I can’t make myself say the things I really think, because, well- they’re kinda… stupid. Superfluous. So I just don’t bother. But then again- that doesn’t necessarily mean the things I think should vanish forever.

I’ll ask for a journal for myself and the log from Mab, and get some notebooks in town too for the- swords book. Book of swords and poetry? Maybe a book for swords and a book for poetry.

 

Clang. Metal fell on metal- plumbing pipe on stone- voices. Crew of toughs with black waders, red star insignia; burly. Pretend to sleep in the shade. 

Wait for it.

Sneak attack- block with sword.

 

“Who are you?” I say.

“I am Zambai of the Franky Family, and I’ve come to collect your bounty, Roronoa Zoro!” he says.

“And your boys?” I say.

“My brothers have come to aid me!” he says.

“Riiight.” I say.

 

And then I slash them all into the slightly murky sea beyond the shore. I don’t even bother with a named attack, I just do it. They’re weak, and they don’t come back, so I guess they weren’t all that serious about it.

 

 

I remain on my post by Merry, quietly trying not to listen to her metal parts whimper and moan. It must be worse for Mab- she can actually talk to Merry’s spirit directly, can’t really- I don’t think she can turn it off, tune it out, like I’m learning to. Ready for trouble now- crew returning. Strangers coming- shipwrights? Shipwrights. Metals in their eyes, metal on their bodies- diagnosis.

I allow the shipwright from Galley-la onto the Going Merry; square’d off nose, long like Usopp’s. Ballcap, blonde hair; darker than Sanji. When they come back, I brace myself- the cadence of Merry’s metals has steadily, perceptibly, been getting more agonized over the time my crewmates have been gone. The diagnosis?

 

“I can’t fix this. No one at Galley-la can; the internal bracing is barely holding her together in tandem with the outer membranous bulkhead. If we try to move her into drydock, the outer bulkhead will fail. If we try to remove the bulkhead, the internal bracing fails; we try to remove the bracing, the keel snaps. It’s snapping as we speak, but slowly- she’ll still float for a while, but… she’s not seaworthy. I’m sorry.” says the man with a squared nose.

 

Usopp starts forward, tension in his shoulders- going to Attack- but Mab shouts at him and he stops.

 

“USOPP! C’MERE!” she shouts.

He stops, shakes in his shoulders and hands for a moment, then goes over to her. Mab has a voice that demands to be listened to- nothing about it stands out over all, it’s just- piercing. She’ll shout and I’ll hear her right through the nastiest storm; where Nami’s voice booms like cannonfire, and Robin’s voice is a dangerous knife in the dark- Mab’s voice is an arrow shot high, a spear thrown and coming in fast. And there’s the speed, too- she can (and usually does) say a whole paragraph in the same time it’d take another woman to say a pair of sentences.

 

“Usopp, we did our best. We did everything we could. In fact, we did everything as right as could be expected- Usopp, Usopp, look at me. Look at me right now.” she says, sternly.

He does- Usopp looks at her, rage on his face warring with denial and fear and pain and-

“Usopp, it’s possible to do everything right and still fail. It’s no one’s fault we can’t save the Going Merry. The only thing we can do now is see her off with dignity, and find a new ship- whether we buy one already made or have one made special- Usopp, look at me, look at me- it doesn’t matter what our new ship is, our  **_first ship as crewmates_ ** will always be the Going Merry. Gnngh.” she says gently, whimpering at the end.

Usopp flinched, and then his entire body leaned toward her.

“Mab, are you okay?” he says.

“Yes, I’m fine. Uugh. It’s nothing you can help with- and Usopp, didn’t you hear him? It’s your work that let me help the Merry at all. If you hadn’t done the repairs in her hold, on the bulkheads, on the mast- everywhere- it would have been pointless for me to even try the over-hull, it wouldn’t have worked. You were a Straw Hat Pirate before I was; your care for the Merry allowed mine. Take pride that you got her this far, and- fffgah, ow, ow fuck- hah- and that she can’t go further as a ship is no one’s fault; it’s not yours, it’s not mine, it’s no one’s; okay?” she says, gently but with the kind of unshakeable conviction I’m starting to expect from her. 

“... Okay. Okay Mab.” he says.

 

If Mab decides something, it tends to stay decided; and it doesn’t matter how much anyone begs to change her mind. Captain has begged her many times to sing, to be the crew’s musician, but the only times Mab ever sings is when  _ she _ feels like it. 

I understand Luffy’s desire for a musician, now- even when Mab is singing something very sad, or something that I just don’t understand, the music lifts the monotony of sailing from island to island. Sure, Nami might say that the Line’s weather precludes boredom, but even the most dangerous jobs become routine after enough times doing them. 

Not to mention morale- Mab actually does a lot to keep the crew’s emotional equilibrium steady, what with her constant care over our wardrobes, and ensuring that what clothes we have are clean, comfortable, and in good repair. I hadn’t realized how much better I feel in general, day to day, when my sheets, and my socks, and my clothing is clean. I hadn’t realized how much more secure I feel, when I have a choice about what to wear, day to day- I tend to buy the cheapest pack of ten to fifteen one color t-shirts from the conbini, and wear the same pair of pants until they disintegrate. Having clothing that isn’t ripped, or blood-stained, or weird-smelling… these things didn’t really register with me as important until after Mab got injured and couldn’t do her job at all.

Mab isn’t integral to the crew’s function, like Sanji or Nami- but her absence is felt. There’s nothing quite like having to change your own bedsheets and wash your own clothing to highlight how good you normally have it. Laundry is fucking awful- it’s nice when it’s done, but goddamn if washing sheets isn’t a pain in the ass. We don’t have a washing machine, right now- Nami says it’s too expensive what with our current food costs, and Mab says washing machines make clothing and people weak.

Have you ever tried to use a mangle? I have, now . They’re fucking terrifying.

 

Anyway, in the commotion I don’t really take note of Robin’s absence- she wanders off into the places we visit, and it’s not strange to have her find us all again after a few hours. Sanji’s really worried about Mab; his hands are almost white knuckled into fists under her knees. 

The Galley-la people return to the city.

Mab waits, wincing all the while.

 

“Fff. They gone?” she says.

“Yeah.” I say.

“Okay. So, we’ve got a plan- and-” she says, looking like she’s mumbling to herself, but there’s no sound I can hear. “-Merry says the sooner she’s in what’s been made for her, the better. Urgh. Help me into the ship-” she says.

“Should you really be doing this now?” Sanji says, worried.

“M-m, I was going to wait ‘till the wings’re ready to pop, then do it- right now, all that’s left is assembly of supplies, and I can direct one of you to do that, right?” she says.

“Ah. Yeah, alright- that’s more reasonable. Doing okay?” he says.

“Better now- most of the big nerves are done, and there’s really only one leaaaaaaaaah, ha, ha, whooo. There it is. Okay, yes, not much worse than shin splints now, or- or d' you remember when you got a growth spurt and your whole hip just ached for a while? It’s like that.” she says.

“Oh. Oh! Well, that’s pretty bad but not-” he says.

“-exactly. I can walk now, I think.” she says.

“No, I’m going to carry you.” he says.

“Yes?” she says.

“Yes.” he says.

“Okay. Usopp, Chopper- come help me put some blood magic together!” she says.

“The name of that is very unsanitary- and are you absolutely sure I can’t give you anything that would help with the pain?” Chopper says.

“I- yeah. Yeah, okay. The Great Usopp was taught by the peerless blood-magician-” Usopp says.

“Mage-” Sanji says.

“-blood-mage-” Usopp corrects himself and continues, unphased .

“No, Chopper, it’s not worth drugging me now; and like I told you earlier, the best way for me to tell if all the nerve clusters are growing correctly is to feel them coming in. And I know the name is odd, but- Tradition. It’s the same as calling the woman who helps other women have babies a midwife- it’s archaic language for a specific concept.” Mab says.

 

They all climb into the boat. I settle back onto my post, and watch Nami worry herself into a tizzy- Robin comes ambling up, and Nami turns. Nami’s still trying desperately to convince herself that everything’s okay- or maybe going to be okay. Trying to convince herself that if she just tries hard enough, nothing’s going to change. Robin’s scared, though, scared like Nami was- she’s hiding it more or less well, but the metal in her blood gives her true feelings away. 

Captain settles next to me on a pile of bricks; Nami talks at Robin. I settle into my seat and prepare to take a nap.

It’s going to be a long day.

I note in passing that the women are going off in a group together; myopic Mab has her hand in Nami’s, and on the other side of Nami is Robin. Mab said something about getting a haircut; over her shoulders was the shawl she usually only wears in rough weather- she wore it in Sakura Kingdom and Alabasta. It’s very…  [ brown ](https://img1.etsystatic.com/102/1/10588438/il_340x270.863645923_mcvc.jpg) . Has a print of wings woven into it, I’d say. It’s also turning blue-er with every wash, so- maybe she forgot to do something to it to keep that from happening? I don’t know. Apparently, the women are going on a spa-style friendship date. Spa day? 

I don’t know or care, I’m taking a nap.

Nami looks cute when she- nevermind. Sleeping now.

 

* * *

(My plan goes like this- Robin’s scared of the way I look, right? So I’ll take Nami as a buffer, and we’ll go have a spa day. I still remember where the spa is that Mother took us to when we all flensed at fifteen- that’s not- ow, ow, ow- that’s not right! I was the only one who flensed, and Titania hated being excluded, and Aradia- fake- Aradia was ever at Mother’s side- ow, ow, ow fuck. It’s Traditional to go get some kind of beautification treatment when you’re flensing, fledging, shedding, and so on. I suppose shedding preconceptions counts.

My beauty treatment plan is to get a new haircut- an undercut bowl cut, short, sweet, and more or less easily maintained. Sanji will probably cut it for me in the back when it starts getting shaggy. New glasses too- mine are very broken, the lenses are basically shattered in the frames. I think I’ll get three pairs of my prescription in  [ cat-eye frames ](http://www.vintagecateyeglasses.org/wp-content/uploads/2010/09/olive_marine_front1.jpg) . As for spa treatment- I’m not actually a fan of shiny…  _ anything, _ directly on my skin. Jewelry has different rules, that’s about materials and placement- but I’m a woman, really, and personally- I don’t want to be terribly shiny and bright excepting for certain features and circumstances. My wings, for example, I expect will be all but glowing when they come out; covered in a protective scale coating that will dry out and flake off when my wings expand and harden. As for the spa itself, as in location...)

* * *

 

Mab breaks me out of my spiralling thoughts.

 

“There’s a spa I know in town- I need a haircut and new glasses, and the one I’m thinking of is for obscenely rich people… Hmm, maybe not that spa exactly, but- yeah, come on, follow me. There’s a whole row of spas that cater to all tribes and- come on, come, come!” she says.

I follow after her- and Robin smiles in sort of half amusement.

“Is it really best to go get spa treatments? I mean-”

“Of course! I have to sing to do it at all, and I assume you will all be the wanting to the watching of me? Yes? I must prepare for such a thing, I do not- I do not enjoy singing for groups, it is not my chosen path. But for my crew, I will do many things I do not enjoy- I have done things I do not enjoy. Usopp’s sheets are not fun to wash.”

“What?”

“Well, he is currently experiencing the extreme fist of puberty- it’s squeezing him like a bottle of mayonnaise every night, and while he pre-washes his own underwear, I handle all the bedding-”

“O-hh mu-ha ha ha, Mab,  _ oh my god _ , Mab-”

“Well, you did ask-”

 

And for the walk to the spa Mab’s thought of, my troubles just… fade to the back of my mind. Mab is a little odd- I don’t actually know that much about her. She’s tall, with dark brown hair that looks black in the shade, and skin of cappuccino color. Brown eyes that have little flecks of gold in them that shine in the light; wears a necklace of bugs now that ensures she doesn’t talk all the time, only some of the time. It works best during the day. 

-And if Aokiji was a woman, he’d sound like Mav- the cadence of their voices, the timber, the tones- if it were me, it’d be like if Arlong had a kid and I had to look after them, had to be near them every day, work with them every day, and they were- nice. Kind, friendly- and never, ever, tried to bring up the monster between us. I don’t know if I could. 

I guess Robin’s reactions to Mab are pretty understandable. Sad, though.

 

(Mab’s not terribly nice, actually- she not polite, she won’t accept a pretty lie, she always has an opinion about everything and will generally throw it out there whether you asked for it or not- but Mab… to her crewmates, Mab _is_ very kind. She’s not polite, not politic- but she is proper. It’s hard to explain- but Mab… Mab made coats for all of us out of her own bedding. She’s the crew’s sewing professional- and she takes her job very seriously. She introduced herself with a title for god’s sake; no one names their child ‘Tailor’ as a first name. It’s just- no one does that.)

 

It’ll be nice to spend time with just us girls- and maybe I can learn more about Mab? I mean, I know she married Sanji but I don’t really understand why, or even- how happy she can be with Sanji? She said they were betrothed, maybe start there-

 

“Hey Mab?”

“Hmm?”

“Um- could you tell me more about you and Sanji?”

“Hmhm?”

“I just- I don’t really understand why you two got married? I mean, you two seem happy together, I just- um.”

“Ah. Sure, I can explain a few things- but some of it is between Sanji and myself, alright?”

“Yeah, of course. So…?”

“Hm. Well, Mother and Sanji’s mom were friends in school, and they both decided to keep in touch afterword. Hm, I guess nobility has a very narrow range of people they can meaningfully interact with? And by all accounts, Mother and his were the best of friends- like sisters of the heart, or so I was told.”

“Okay...”

“So, flash forward from their school days nearly a decade, and they’re both married and having kids. Mother’s situation is a bit complicated, but Sanji’s mom was either a princess or a Queen consort in the North Blue.”

“Making Sanji a prince I guess...?”

“-so anyway, Mother and his decided between themselves that one of Sanji’s mom’s kids and one of Mother's kids would be married in the future. -To facilitate a lasting peace agreement, of course.”

“What.”

“Well, in Sky Blue- and among the Nobility, especially- the concept of ‘marriage’ is merely a kind of trade agreement, usually with the concept of bride price or groom’s share being a monetary exchange or a tariff to ensure a cessation of previous hostilities- a binding sort of peace treaty. Marriage’s main use is to guarantee the treaty; with peace  coming  at the low price of a state wedding and the lives of two people.”

“...you said your mom’s situation was complicated?”

“Ah. Yeah- As I recall, due to various complications, she eventually declared herself, the Queen of Broken Hearts, and the Pirate King; married.”

“...Who’s your mom again?”

“Well, I never said, but Mother ’s known down here as The Rum Runner.”

“Mab, what the fuck.”

“What?”

“The Rum Runner i s a Shichibukai, you can’t just- they can’t just marry active pirates, that’s not-”

“Sky Blue doesn’t recognize the sovereignty of the World Government, Nami, so Mother- they got married in Sky Blue, and the various Blues definitely recognize Sky Blue marriages as valid. Very, very valid.”

“...so, wait;  _ Tomlin _ was a real man?”

“Of course.”

“And the Fairy war that came from Margo stealing her Tom- that really happened?”

“As far as I know, it happened- well, yes, it definitely happened here. At Water 7.”

“...what.”

“ _ The city of fountains was once a great well- _

_ and into that well Margo threw Tom-a-Line. _

_ And oh, and oh, there came a great wailing- _

_ 'The Fairy Margo has stolen is no longer thine!'" _ said Robin.

“-Robin?” I said.

“I read that line of poetry in- oh, a folio written by gardner-monks some 900 years ago. I didn’t think anything of it- people are people, no matter when you are- but it’s interesting. The written accounts of Tomlin date from about two hundred years _after_ the ballad was composed.” said Robin.

“Right- Nami, you don’t build a city like this without a reason; as I recall, the Battle of Gemini reshaped the local island’s water tables extensively- that’s why the city is basically a giant fountain. Anyway, when Queen Ariel recognized Tomlin and Margo as a valid marriage, it set a precedent for Sky Blue marriages to be considered valid in the lower Blues; and when Grana Una reconquered the North- well Mother decided to be proactive about the tensions between the two Blues. Skua and Nort had only come to an armistice, after all, not a true treaty for peace. ” said Mab.

“...Okay. So- oh wow, that’s a really pretty spa.” I said.

“Yeah, kinda pricey though, give me a second-” said Mab.

 

And Mab darts off to have a quiet conversation with a… snake haired woman? I think- no, those are feathers. Oh! A Siren! Okay, cool. 

-If I’m understanding things correctly, Mab and Sanji were to be married to ensure a lasting peace between North Blue and Sky Blue. Meaning Mab and Sanji are both- royalty, nobles, or near enough. Hmm.

 

“So- we can get a full spa treatment but not here, they don’t accept walk ins. Come, come this way, come-”

“Alright- so, uh, you and Sanji were both raised knowing you would marry each other?”

“Mhm. We were actually pen pals, it was very- Sanji’s actually the first person I ever tried to make friends with? He’s not actually that different, now, I am meaning to say. We wrote to each other from age six to age- ten for me, and he’s a year younger, so-”

“Okay, that’s actually pretty cute. Um- though, you guys act like a married couple?”

“We are…?”

“No, I mean- if a Noble Marriage is just a trade agreement, why would you…?”

“Well, there are various protocol and conduct codes I was taught as a child- one of which pertains towards marriage. It lists various actions I’m to take as a husband’s wife? I’m just following directions, really. - It just so happens that the directions I was taught to follow as a husband’s wife are also, incidentally, good directions for navigating an intimate relationship. Queen Ariel wrote them, and she was very wise.”

“So… okay, you’re following directions. And I assume Sanji is as well? The same ones, even?”

“Presumably, yes, just with the gendered tenses flipped- or perhaps the ungendered version, which is more closely related to the original scripture... I mean, once Queen Ariel validated the marriage of Tomlin and Margo, all the rest of the Blues were given copies of the Codes by which their marriage was to abide? It was a treaty, after all, not just a marriage. I guess the nobles saw an opportunity for themselves. You know, it’s funny- the story of Tomlin and Margo is considered fact simply because of the oddity of them being in love before their marriage.”

“Wait, wait- you didn’t expect to be in love with Sanji, even?”

“Well- no. I don’t- I love my husband, but… I’m not in love with him. I could grow into him eventually, but I haven’t been together with him long enough for that to happen- and, well… Sanji didn’t marry me because he was in love with me, he married me for other reasons.”

“Okay, like what-?”

“Well, for one thing, by getting married the way we did, Sanji is now unquestionably a man- and things his awful blood relations could have used him for they can’t now-”

 

“Missus , Mrs. Fairy! Please, wait a moment- I’m so sorry, I gave you and your friends the wrong directions.”

“Ah?”

“Yes, Missus \- you want to go five streets **_this_** way, **_then_** turn right. It's the building with the copper green roof, alright?”

“Oh, sure. Mistakes happen to us all- I’m glad we hadn’t made the turn yet!”

“Me too, miss. Enjoy your day!”

“You too!”

The Siren runs off, back to her job. 

That was the smoothest saving of face I've seen in years.

 

“Hmm. Anyway- you asked why we got married? Some of that is between Sanji and me, but- I will say this. I was never unaware of Sanji’s ultimate intentions- and the main reason he and I got married is actually the same. I can say with some certainty that my younger sister- ow- will do anything she can to solidify her hold on the throne, which she sits now. And I truly do mean anything, including trying to use me as a bargaining piece- however, in Sky Blue- and, frankly, the rest of the World-  you can only get married when you aren’t already married. There’s no such thing as marrying twice- you’re married until all other participants in the marriage die, and then there is a mourning period of a certain time- it varies place to place- and then, and only then, one may entertain new marriage prospects.”

“So- basically you’re using each other to avoid being used later on? Is that right?”

“Well, yes. ...Nami, that’s what I was taught marriage is  _ for _ . That’s also what Sanji was taught- so… for us, at least, it’s not weird at all. And here we are- have you been to a full spa before?”

“I’ve heard of them, but- um. That’s a lot of things I can get done.”

“Yes it is. Well, how would you like to relax? They have massages, skin treatments, relaxing pools, hair removal, hair treatments, nail treatments, dental treatments, an in house optician, reasonably priced options for clothing if you don’t feel comfortable in what you’re in now, later- what seems good to you?”

“A massage sounds  _ amazing _ , actually. What do they have that’s…  **_extensive_ ** ?”

“Hm- number six-X; that treatment would probably be best in your case- it’s a soak, scrub, soak, and a combination massage, meaning they’ll massage you in a variety of ways. Hair washing and style included, as is a mani-pedi. Sound good?”

“...that actually sounds amazing. Yeah, the number six-extensive is for me-”

“...Robin?”

“Yes, Miss Tailor?”

“Ah. I would hate to presume, but I think you’d like the number one-basic? It’s a hair and nails treatment- hair wash and mani-pedi, and I just thought...”

“Oh. Hmm. Yes, that would be nice.”

“You don’t have to, if you-”

“No. No, it’s fine.”

Mab looks so- resigned. Like this has happened to her before- all of this. I break the tension as best I can.

“So, Mab, what are you going to be doing?”

“Oh- for myself, probably the number ten-standard? It’s a massage, a series of scrubs and soaks, a facial, and then another massage; with a hair and nail treatment following. Um. I mean, that’s usually what I want when I go to a spa like this?”

“Oh. Did you go to spa’s often?”

“Well- when Mother was home, during the spring holidays from school, she would take all three of us on these long flying trips, and we’d go all over the world. Um, mostly here, actually- we usually spent about a week or so here? I didn’t really get to spend much time with Mother and my siblings except for then, so- ow \- a-anyway, um, let’s get our relaxification on, yes?”

“...Sure, Mab.”

 

Oh my god. I- apparently I don’t scrub as good as I thought? Or I guess, in some spots I can’t? Just, so much skin is coming up, I didn’t think just a wash and a soak would leave anything but- oh wow. And then there’s another soak after this- and then a massage, which- I’m already relaxing so much, how much more relaxed can I get? 

[ Woaaaaah ](https://youtu.be/-p7nv1oNXUY) . The answer is much more relaxed, actually. Holy fuck that’s good.

Hair washed, trimmed- chilling out in the nail salon. Oh, there’s Robin getting a pedicure and reading a book- and there’s Mab with a… a really nice haircut. Wow. Wow, she’s cute. 

[ Doesn’t look much like Aokiji anymore ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/9f/73/cb/9f73cb190be1940a9aa5618cc17b0eed.jpg) \- there are hints of his face but through some magic of haircutting, Mab’s entire head shape is different- the glasses might change that a little bit at the very least, but goddamn. The entire shape of her head’s different now, I can- I can see her fucking ears, wow.

Robin and I are finished sooner than Mab is- and when Robin leaves, Mab waves me on to follow her with a smile. Luffy’s wrong- Mab isn’t secretly nice; she’s  _ kind _ .

 

Even though I thought I moved quickly enough, when I got outside, Robin was already gone. I guess she went off on her own for a bit? I mean… I’ve maybe been hovering a little bit too much. Mab exits the spa about fifteen minutes later- there’s a great deal of bug parts that are just gone, and the- it’s like a chrysalis, but Mab calls it something else- it’s almost clear, now, just a few milky spots left on it. Mab herself is all but glowing; as if years of grime have been cleared off of her, but not… She’s not really different in any appreciable way. Ignoring the crumpled wings folded up in a nearly clear chrysalis between her shoulder blades; she’s wearing the same shirt she came in with, her shawl wrapped over her shorts around her hips; her boots with their silver buttons, her glittering necklace of bugs; and a pair of glasses, like always. 

It’s the little details- her hair cut changes the entire shape of her head, and her glasses aren’t the plain circles of before but sharp like cat’s eyes and dotted with sparkling gemstones across the brow. She’s carrying a small shopping bag- there’s a rounded off case in it, a little odd, and I would guess spares of her glasses- something fabric and folded, maybe?- and that’s it.

I think Sanji and Mab got married for whatever reasons they have- Mab says political… 

I say it was because they have the hots for each other and couldn’t quite see a way to just fooling around with each other without going too far for their upbringings to handle. So they got married- and it turns out their upbringings also have extensive rules and codes of conduct for getting married to people you don’t know very well and aren’t in love with at the time of being wed . Most importantly- Mab and Sanji are actually… comfortable. Together, I mean- and I pushed Mab towards Sanji because I’ve fooled around with him before, back in East Blue. Sanji’s actually very good at kissing and fucking, but it was always clear to me that he was just fooling around- it was just kissing, just fucking, he wasn’t serious about it. In fairness, neither was I.

Sanji and Mab are serious about each other, though- or they take each other’s advances very seriously.

 

I’m not interested in anything serious right now, I don't think \- but they, obviously, are. And it is very cute to watch. And then Mab does things like this- she’s… incredibly beautiful, clean and shining and undeniably sharp, like something inside of her is ready to strike at any moment.

You know, it’s probably for the best that we’re getting a new ship, even with everything. Going Merry’s a good little ship, but her walls are not thick enough. Just- not thick enough. Not paper thin- every squeal and moan isn’t quite heard with crystal clarity, but not thick enough. So- soundproofing, for certain areas. Might be nice. Maybe something with the acoustics.

 

She glances around, looks at me, then smiles wryly.

“Back to the ship, or more shopping?” she says.

“Back to the ship, I think- Robin will catch up, or maybe she needs some time for herself. And for you, it’d be- better if she wasn’t there.” I say.

“It’d be better if  _ no one _ \- if I was the only one there, Nami;  **that** would be  _ perfect _ . Captain, of course, will absolutely want to be there because I’ll be singing and he loves music, and Usopp loves Merry, and- at that point it doesn’t matter how many or few people are there. I’m not… comfortable singing in front of people, Nami, and it doesn’t really matter who they are.” she says.

“...Robin’s scared of you.” I say.

“Robin’s scared of  _ him-  _ I just look too much like him. - who even was that guy, I never caught his name-” she says.

“Vice Admiral  Aokiji-?”

“Oh,  **him** . He was one of my mother’s lovers back in the day- ow. Small world.”

“Mab,  _ oh my god- _ ”

  
  
  


 

It’s twilight- the stars haven’t come out just yet. The water is dark red-black, and the metal of the junkyards shines in the light. It’s been a full twenty eight hours- the internal pressure is just about to make my wings pop.

It’s time to finish this- the boys did a good job putting everything together.

The ingredients- our hair bound together in an elf-knot by my shaking fingers and stuffed into the mouth of a fish that’s been pickling in a barrel of rum for at least a month. Seawater, gravedirt, eggshells and gold dust in a silken sack follow the ball of hair; and a bar of something that resembles hard soap in saffron bright orange and smelling faintly of honey goes last into the fish; the barrel was sealed by Usopp with a series of iron nails.

I carry the barrel out, whole body shivering with nervous anticipation- my crewmates are all there. I set it down just so, pace around it- and then the time for stalling is over, and so I  [ sing ](https://youtu.be/vUZ_smvqVQ8) .

(I’m a Fairy, not a Selkie- but... My Aunt Tzipporah, who taught me this song when it became clear that even though Aradia, being a Siren- ow- she had a right to it, but also couldn’t possibly learn it… My Aunt told me that I would have to teach Aradia’s daughters to sing it, and mine when I had them.)

As my voice echoes and reverberates, the magic calls up all the local spirits of the sea, earth, and sky. Ancient spirits of ships long past; tiny creatures usually invisible to the naked eye dancing and free-wheeling in the air. The air is thick with their unphysical bodies and their very real attention- tiny, dainty women sitting in the branches of Nami’s tangerine trees, and narrow, sharp-toothed faces gazing up from the waves. Strange beings with wispy, feathery hair; gulls with far too intelligent eyes.

Everywhere, the sound of the sea.

 

In front of me, curled into her smooth  [ red and white and black striped shell ](https://www.sportstrophy.co.uk/en/MR063-red-white-black-medal-ribbon.jpg) \- Merry. The world slowly fades back into it’s normal reality; I press the smooth side of my jaw and the skin behind my ear into the shell. I listen. Steady ba-bump-ba-bump; fast four-four beat, steady and fast. All is well- she’ll hatch when she’s ready. I step away, and turn around- and there are two more eggs.

Shit.

Well.

Okay. 

 

Left egg is black and white like a chunk of  [ carrera marble ](http://gbkremodeling.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/04/marble-tile-carrara-white-polished-12x24-beautiful-carrera-marble-design-carrera-marble-countertop-carrera-marble-countertops-marble-countertops-white-carrera-marble-carrera-marble-kitchen.jpg) ; right egg is covered in…  [ iridescent blue spirals ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/5b/8d/ca/5b8dca069d5fa48da2a1088f6154fbc2.jpg) . 

Oh no. 

Oh  **_nooooo_ ** .

 

“...Did I just turn Taffy, Shelly, and Crabby into eggs?”

“Scarf leapt in with Taffy.” says Zoro. He’s trying really hard not to laugh; asshole.

“Fucking- everytime, something goes wrong doing this. Every damn time. Ugh. Well.”

 

I check Taffyscarf’s egg; heartbeat within the regular range, no abnormalities- and Scarf and Taffy- between the two of them eating anything that falls to the ground and several things that didn’t but were close enough, the egg’s almost certainly got everything it needs for proper development. Crabshelly’s egg is much the same; smooth regular shell, iridescence just an affectation- the shell is much sturdier than I’d expect normally. Artifacts of construction? -well, there’s of course the jelly to consider, but I can’t do anything until after they hatch out.

Well, it’s done for now- in the time we have before they hatch out, I’ll make clothing for them. I’m not entirely sure of their ages when they hatch out- Shelly felt like a mature individual, but Crabby wasn’t… Scarf was mature, but Taffy definitely wasn’t… and Merry could be anywhere between twelve and twenty. 

Tradition states to dress a changeling first in their egg colors; Merry’s starting pallette is red, white, and black; Crabshelly is in iridescent blues and browns; Taffyscarf’s in black and white…

I’m thinking- red tunic dress, long cut, loose; pegged black and white striped pants, long-ways stripes. Red shoes, flats, straps over and around the ankle. Headband, not a hat- Merry will pick their own hat. 

Taffyscarf- white, black. Maybe fur elements- scratch fur except in accessory. Black shirt, cutouts at shoulders, long sleeve close fit; crop top, black. High waisted pants, ankle length, relaxed fit- mom jeans, white. White vest, hard material, more like a piece of armor; white gymnastic shoes. 

Crabshelly- blue tunic dress, brown tights. Slouched flat boots, some kind of cut out design on upper near or above ankle. Helmet- final fitting after hatching, plan it now though- spiral pattern? Yes.

 

What- oh fuck, like I’ll let that- I’ve got Luffy’s head under my foot, his arms in one of my hands- oh. Huh. Didn’t realize I was quite this militant about this, but it does make sense…

 

“Don’t touch them, they’re only little right now. -I f you crack these eggs, I will kill you. Got it?”

“But- ow ow ow, yes, got it.”

“Good.”

And then I let Luffy go. 

 

 

Let’s see- Taffy’s sleeping blanket was on the docket for washing, so I washed it and made sure it was hemmed; that’ll get bundled around her egg’s base. Merry will get our old flag, and Crabshelly actually has a much loved raggy silk blanket it slept on...

Dammit, I- I might just not be meant to have cloud foxes as pets. Or pets at all.

Sanji approaches Crabshelly’s egg in my full view, and carefully picks it up-

 

“Sewing room?”

“Sewing room. Their blanket is clean, on their shelf- there’s a basket? Put them there.”

“Okay.” Sanji walks off with Crabshelly in his arms, their shell nearly the size of his entire torso.

“Usopp- I know the old flag is on your shelf somewhere- go get it. I’ll wrap Merry in it.”

“Oh- oh! Yeah, that’s- yeah, be right back.”

“How come Sanji gets to carry an egg?!?” screeches Luffy.

“Sanji won’t forget he’s carrying an egg and drop it or decide to play with it like it's a ball , Captain.”

“...Fair.” says Luffy with a pout.

“Mhmm.”

His pout is not effective on me and he should know that by now.

 

Zoro hands me Taffy’s sleeping blanket- warm, soft, plaid with a bit of a felt feeling. I tie it around my shoulders, and carefully pick up Taffyscarf’s egg. In the sewing room, Sanji has carefully nestled Crabselly into Crabby’s old sleeping basket, tucked her blanket around the shimmering blue shell- in the lower light, I can see it’s covered in little brown stripes and yellowed patches.

I have a small stash of baskets and boxes; I tuck Taffyscarf into the crook of my arm and leg, hold onto her with my wing- they popped when I was singing I think- untie Taffy’s blanket and tuck the egg into Scarf’s basket. Scarf didn’t use a blanket; mostly when I wasn’t using Scarf, she was sleeping in a basket in my sewing room. Another basket gets set out for Merry- and if Sanji and I share a momentarily heated embrace, well, that’s between us, isn’t it?

Usopp’s tucked the old flag into his sash to carry Merry’s egg into the sewing room; I hold it while he prepares the flag as a blanket, and we situate her gently into the fabric. Three eggs in my sewing room, and clothing to make- Uh huh uh huh uh huh. Hopefully I don’t go broody. I’ll be hovering over them and cussing people out when they get too close, it’ll be terrible.

I press a wing into Usopp’s side, then I pack up my sewing room- it’s always in a state of being packed away, but this time- it’s more permanent. We can’t use this boat anymore, after all- it’s… empty, and not seaworthy. Sewing machine packs away quickly, last empty laundry basket gets filled with cloth ready to go- hives go on my back, scorpions to follow. Everyone out.

I set the sewing machine and the cloth outside the door; settle the four hives by Nami’s orchard. Scorpions drape themselves among the roots- not many left. At this point, I don’t actually need light to see- the moons are so bright… oh no, the lunar convergence. It’s coming very soon, either today or tomorrow- but still, I have work to do.

I finish all the clothing I decided on making near to midnight lit by moonlight. 

On most nights, only one or two of the moons are clearly visible, but as the year progresses there are times when all of them can be seen. These are the equinoxes; meaning the autumnal equinox is coming up, along with its lunar convergence. During this time, in certain places around the world, the tides experience a massive, violent shift- and Water 7 is one of them. It shouldn’t matter- so long as the boat is tied to the correct loose-line, we can pull the anchor and at most, we’ll take on some water. Or we would if the boat wasn’t- 

So we’ll have to move all our stuff at the very latest, by mid afternoon tomorrow. 

My buglace doesn’t work so well at night- so I put it away in it’s case that I got at the spa. A bit of honey and some water, and little holes in the lid for air circulation- and hey, it’s Nami.

 

“Hey Nami.”

“Hey Mab- when you said massive tidal shift, I had to come right over.  What do you mean, exactly?”

“Ah. That. Aqua Laguna is famous in Water 7- it happens twice a year, and we so happened to come during it…? Big tidal wave shift, lasts about a day. We- since we aren’t staying on this boat,  _ with _ this boat, we should maybe move our stuff into a hotel rated for Aqua Laguna by tomorrow, mid-afternoon at the latest? And- I do mean everything, all our stuff, the eggs- everything.”

“...Okay. Glad I got the gold exchanged earlier.”

“Yeah, that was a good idea.”

I tuck the clothing into bags, set them aside- the only thing I can really do now is go to bed. So I do. Nestle on top of Sanji, press my face into his neck; press smooth skin into scratchy hairy man flesh. I pass out into the blackness of sleep, and we both dream the night away.

After a bit of mutual masturbation, of course- it would have been the full sex, but I'm still a bit tired and Sanji is very considerate.

 

 

In the morning, when Robin still hasn’t come back, I’m not quite worried- Robin’s a grown woman, and very strong, and I’m worried, why am I lying to myself. I was worried the second she started flinching at the sight of me again. I was in too much pain to really pay attention, but something worried Sanji yesterday- and that, I could feel with my whole body.

Sanji carries tension in his back. Maybe I should pick up a manual about massage? Buglace on- it’s going to be a hell of a day. 

“I like massage.”

“I figured. I’ll see what I can find after today- we’ve got to pack and move things all day today, but… tomorrow, maybe?”

“Yeah. If you get an extensive  [ manual ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sex_manual) \- y’know, like… like the Sutra? Ah, m-maybe we could both use it?”

“Hmhmhmhm! I’ll, ah, I’ll see what I can find. Nnnot quite the manual I had in mind- I was actually talking about actual massage. Your shoulders feel like chunks of rock sometimes, love.”

“O-oh. Well- I mean-”

“But that’s a good idea, I do enjoy trying new things-”

“Oh dear.”

“-Anyway, I’ve got to go pack. Kiss?”

“Kiss kiss.”

“Bye, Sanji!”

“...what have I done...”

  
  


Moving is always hell. Robin still isn’t back- Nami and I pack up her things. Her journal’s gone. Hmm. Not worried yet. Worried, but- not worried. Worried enough. It takes several trips to the hotel Nami secured early this morning to get everything moved; we move the eggs first thing and Nami’s orchard last; garden, kitchen, dorms. Canons got left on the boat; flag will hang as is until we have another ship at least.

 

Mid afternoon in the hotel suite we rented; I’m resting on a stool dragged over from the small galley. Zoro’s watching the doors and windows to the room; Sanji’s burnt up three cigarettes like incense- three cigarettes this whole day. He’s tense.

Hmm.

 

“Sanji, earlier when you were carrying me around- who did you see that freaked you out?”

“Um?

“You tensed up something fierce, and I just-”

“Oh- well. You wrote to me about a girl from school? Very descriptive- I remember her because her name’s a type of orange-”

“Ceville Selfridge? You saw _Ceville Selfridge?!?”_

“Maybe? I remember you telling me about her- she was a childhood bully, right?”

“Not quite...  Rail thin, like sticks and bones. Skin’s milk pale, blue eyes, resting scowl, wide mouth, flat nose, blue bird tattoos on the front of her shoulders, like right by her neck. Pink hair- like the inside of your mouth or a thistle bloomed  wide, wears clothing from neck to ankle and covering to the wrist- high heels. Always. Is that who you saw?”

“...yeah. That’s it.”

“Aw, hellfire and damnation. Civille Selfridge is a Sky Blue professional Mariner- meaning she’s a low Blue assassin, saboteur, bounty hunter, and thief. Back when I ran the Docks, she was known to me as a Cipher Pol infiltrator, code named Bitter Orange- to have her here is… not good. We need to find Robin **_right now_**.”

“What’s Cipher Pol?” says Zoro.

“The World Government’s 'secret' spy agents. Assassins, Zoro, and pretty good ones.”

“Fuck-”

 

And then Nami, Luffy, and Chopper burst in- Chopper shouts first because he’s fastest on his stubby little legs.

 

“I can’t find Robin anywhere! We met after the ladies spa date yesterday and, and-”

“Breathe Young Buck, take a  deep breath and say-”

“Robin tried to kill the mayor!”

“Bullshit, Robin-chan wouldn’t-”

"They're taking Robin to jail-"

"Captain, slow down-"

 

And then everyone’s screaming, shouting, or trying and failing to understand. 

To hell with it.

I get up, go to my bag, and change into my new leather pants- they’re high waisted… down here they’d be called biker-pants- maybe [leggings?](https://cdn1.thehunt.com/app/public/system/note_images/365637/original/b601ee0bcc8076a93cfb9cc710b6f938.jpg) not sure-  but they’re not. These are aerialists pants, ultra sleek and mildly armored along my outer edges; tuck a fresh skinshirt under the waistband, scrape my hair back and tuck it into a bomber-snoopy. Leave the radio behind- there’s no center point to them without Shelly.

The room behind me has gone very quiet. I take a hunk of beeswax and a small empty tin- it came with my buglace box, it was a whole box of boxes- nevermind, not important. I go to the galley, barefoot, and slice my beeswax into cubes.

There’s a specific compound in my saliva that does something to beeswax- turns it into a specific kind of… basically varnish. I spit into my hand, take a cube of beeswax and scrub it between my hands. Heat, enzymes, wax- varnish. Sticky glue? I pull a wing over my shoulder and swipe the glittering scales into a glob leaving behind wings that are clear like glass and muscles sheathed in oil slick black hairs. I stick stick stick the ball of glimmering gunk into the metal tin, and repeat the process- one, two, three. Four wings like panes of glass, veined in black and ready to fucking go. Spit directly into the mixture of scales, gunk, and add beeswax cubes. Take two wings to a hand, pull till the snap crackle pop pop pop. Repeat on the other side. Listen to the hissing of warpaint in it’s tin. My color is brown, and shines in the light.

 

“Mab, what are you doing?” Luffy said.

“Preparing for battle, Luffy.” I said.

“...Why are you preparing for battle?” he said.

My crewmates are waiting for me to say something. I won’t disappoint them.

 

“Here’s the thing- we can’t know what happened between Robin and Mr. Iceberg unless and until we ask Robin or the Mayor directly. It’s being construed that the Straw Hat Pirates tried to kill the Mayor of Water 7- except no, we  _ didn’t _ , because that’s not how we’d  _ do _ that,” I say. I pop my neck and keep going. “And it doesn’t really matter who’s doing this, or why- we already know it’s either the World Government, or someone after one of us specifically. It’s either a Cipher Pol- probably CP9, they were stationed here last I recall; or it’s Ceville Selfridge, a Mariner. Those are like combination assassin-bounty hunters, they work for Sky Blue’s government on comission- she’s not here without a reason. So.”

“Neh, Mab- you have a plan?”

“I surely do, Captain. Did they say where they’re taking Robin?”

“Enies Lobby.” Everyone flinches at Nami’s voice, but I don’t because I don’t recognize the authority of the World Government. Whiny birdshite upstarts.

“Then it looks like we’re going to Enies Lobby. The plan? Take a train or boat to Enies Lobby, hopefully catching her before they actually manage to ship her off the island to real jail. -If we have to bust Robin out of jail, well, I’ve got some ideas about that, too. Anyway. Get to Enies Lobby, alive, take Robin back- by force if required- and find out what’s really going on; without the Marines sticking their blue beaks into things, dying, or losing all our clothing. I’ve had the last happen to me last time I had to break into somewhere I wasn’t supposed to be and even though the nuns were very kind and convivial, there’s some things I just don’t want to do again. -Anyway, that’s really about it.”

“...Mab.”

“Sanji-love.”

“What, exactly, makes Enies Lobby different from real jail? -Also, nuns?”

“Well, Enies Lobby is really just a judicial area, with holding cells- and really, holding cells and jail cells are really different, they are disparate entirely- and I… I think I can tell you about the nuns, but really I’d have to start with getting arrested again and I’m not sure we have the time-”

“Mab-love?”

“Mhm?”

“How many times have you been arrested, exactly?”

“Well, after the sixth or seventh time it just wasn’t fun anymore so I stopped counting. It’s not like they could hold me anyway, so...”

I shrug, take my warpaint, and daub it on. The dots, the stripes, the sharp thin lines-  [ my face is dressed for war ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/c7/27/71/c72771cac682323b3a4ef31a23e7c7da.jpg) ; where before I would have had yellow, now there is only skin. Never actually took my buglace off- helmet over with my boots. Socks on, feet in boots, helmet on. Put on my kusarigama- the sword I got in Alabasta is nice, but… it really isn’t mine.

Sorry, Nuibari.

 

Everyone’s grinning at me. My crewmates are fucking weird.


	14. Spawning Waters

When I told Mr. Iceburg why I was threatening him, he told me to shoot him in the shoulder and go- he’d handle the rest. I chose to believe him. I hope he’s okay.

I'm a really terrible shot, that's why I usually don't use guns...

I only know a little bit about Water 7, not enough to say where the doctor would be-

I-

 

Ohara was built in the boughs of the Tree of Knowledge. Given to the ancient wandering scholars by the Fairy Queen Ariel as a gift, it was planted at the island of Ohara 5,000 years ago. Ohara Island became a haven of scholars and archeologists, and it thrived- for 5,000 years, the Tree of Knowledge grew. As I recall, Knowing- that’s the name of the tree, you see, Knowing- was the child of Chronos, the Fairy Tree; said to be a massive library holding the knowledge of all creation in its beams and branches. It- Knowing- was destroyed in a Buster Call. Knowing was an apple tree- I can remember eating some of the bittersweet fruit of the Tree of Knowledge as a child…

 

I’m being guarded by- well, after sailing for some time with M- a Fairy. The woman guarding me is a Fairy. She’s pale, with thin limbs and wide hips; pink hair cut like a man’s, and clothing that covers from the middle of her neck, to each wrist, to her ankles- all in one piece, some kind of dress I suppose. I’ve never seen- a fairy- wear a dress, so I’m curious as to why she is.

She’s- friendlier, than the other CP9 members. I get the sense that she really doesn’t want to be doing this- she doesn’t really want to hurt me, and if she could get away with letting me run, she would. For now, she’s a tentative ally- if it becomes impossible for CP9 to use a Buster Call against Water 7 and my crewmates, then- Cipher Pol was started in response to Queen Grana Una’s unification of Sky Blue and subsequent conquest of the North Blue; with Queen Grana Line’s conquest of her namesake a thousand years before, the new government decided that keeping an eye on the untameable seas was perhaps a good idea. Of course, all mentions of Cipher Pol have been redacted- except in very oblique references.

 

My guard… she’s not Cipher Pol, she couldn’t be.

 

“Excuse me, Miss, may I ask you some questions? I’m an archaeologist, and… well, there are so few credible records of Fairy culture...”

“Oh! Um- sure, that’s fine. It’s a long train ride, anyway.”

“You’re- not going to try intimidating me?”

“Oh, gosh, no. Protocol- Up High- is that torture in any of it’s forms just- it’s not effective? It doesn’t work; the person you interrogate will do anything in their power to make the pain stop, including lie, and if you’re trying to get good information… so, yeah, no. Since you’re going to be executed anyway, there’s no real point in trying to hide my name from you. I mean, I will anyway? Since it’s Protocol? But, um- yeah, sure, I’ll answer some questions.”

“Nico Robin, Archaeologist. Nice to meet you.”

“Oh, wow- I’d heard some people put their last names first, but- um, right. Bitter Orange, Mariner. Chairete?”

“Hahaha. If you don’t mind me asking, why are you wearing a dress? You’re one of the only Fairies I’ve ever seen wearing one?”

“Oh, um, well- fairies have a huge amount of sensory nerves in their, uh, wings? Um, muscles too, uh- Like, cutting off a fairies’ wings is a bit like, uh, tearing out their eyes, but… with like, elements of cutting off, like… stithos, no, what’s the word… uh... breast! It’s like cutting off both of a woman’s breasts or a man’s testicles, to cut off a Fairies wings, as well as, um, eyes- but, well, as a Mariner I work in the lower Blues, and most people down here don’t have wings at all. Part of my job is blending in, so, uh, there’s an undergarment that I wear to restrict my wings- not harmful, but restrictive, you know? Like a bra. And, uh, uh, I wear the dress to keep my head on the job. S’work clothes.”

“Ah. I had heard that Fairy wings grew back over winters?”

“Hahaha?! I mean, technically they can, but you’d need intercession from a blood-mage to make sure they came in correctly. Although, and I don’t mind telling you this- who are you going to tell?- I’ve heard that the current Heir to the Line of House Morgan was gifted with the power to regrow their wings alone. That’s just a rumor though.”

“Hm. Are there different kinds of clothes for different jobs?”

“Oh, sure- each Fairy specializes around their fifteenth year or so, and from then on you wear some sort of version of your working clothing. I’ve worn a dress like this coming up on five years now- but a fabric sewer in the docks, for example, would be showing way more skin? As I recall, that uniform is shorts, boots, and a skinshirt- uh, down here they’re most commonly called a halter top, but it’s a really specific kind of shirt, not- it uh, it comes up around the clavicles and, uh, uh, as the sewer gets higher in the rankings- because there’s a hierarchy, right, so- so they start wearing longer shirts, and longer pants, until finally they get their own trenchcoat… Really, you wanna know something weird about the people Down Here?”

“Sure.”

“Every man down here is a degenerate pervert.”

“Haha, really?”

“Yeah- every man down here has this strange fascination with breasts, and I’m like- they’re for feeding babies? Are all the men down here babies? Fucking hell-”

“Hahaha, wow. If you don’t mind me asking- the fairy I’ve talked to before, they didn’t have… they talked about sexual things with the same sort of frankness as you. Is that normal?”

“Oh! Um, yeah- sex is just a thing you can do? It only means something if there are feelings involved, and it’s the feelings that are really private for a Fairy, not the actions. In some places back home, the notion of- okay, Down Here, another super weird thing I had to get used to was the difference in what privacy even means.”

“Oh? How so?”

“Well, back- um, back home, it’s not uncommon to see young people- that’s people between the ages of fifteen and twenty, you’re not grown until you’re twenty- um, it’s not uncommon to see them having sex just- anywhere really? And um, after your majority at twenty, sex is just another thing you can do? Down here, people don’t even **_talk_ ** about sex all that much, it’s super weird- but they’re okay with talking about how they feel about things all the time? It’s just- different. Oh, hey- do you want some lunch?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m holding you prisoner, not- not the others, not the Bluebeaks, they’re holding some guy named Franky, so um, I- I’m really not sure why they want you dead? But, I’m, I- I can’t disobey direct orders, and my orders are to co-operate with the CP stationed at Water 7, so- b-but, um, I’m also not going to make this experience nastier than it has to be for you? It’s not right, hurting people just because you can, I mean. I- We- Fairies don’t do that, it’s not- it’s not Fair. Torture doesn’t work, and, and resolving to kill someone later doesn’t mean you treat them poorly now. The sins of the Father do not pass to the Son. So, um- Lunch. Er, I’m on a weird schedule, so it’s my lunch time- food, um, dinner maybe for you? Supper?”

“A sandwich and something to drink would be nice.”

“Um- alright. It’s- it’s lucky… It’s lucky today’s sandwich day, because, um. Here.”

“Thank you.”

 

I eat the sandwich. I drink the cup of coffee she pours from a thermos for me. We each have an apple, split an orange and a handful of berries. I take a piece of spearmint chewing gum, and spit it out after the flavor is gone into a paper napkin.

 

“If you don’t mind me asking, why do you call them, ah, ‘Bluebeaks’? Did I say that right?”

“Oh sure, um-”

 

Behind us, I can hear- a roaring sound, like a fireworks rocket, almost. But I ignore it for the idle conversation. Historically, Fae are said to be the masters of disguise, the finest actors in the world- historically untrustworthy, for all that their promises are honored to the very letter. I suppose that’s the problem, really- if a Fae makes a promise, and they don’t like the person they’ve promised something to, they’ll do everything in their power to screw that person over. Fae don’t particularly care for the spirit of a promise- they care for the Word. To them, it doesn’t matter what you _meant_ to say- it matters what you **_said_ ** **.** (There’s a famous story from Est that goes something like this: The Senpai, who had been working many years, decided one day that he was very tired, and so he pushed his work onto his Kohai. His Kohai was very young and untested, and so he did not complain; he did his own work, and his Senpai’s work as well. This went on for a full working quarter, before the time came to get paid. Their Boss was a Fairy, and the Fairy paid the Kohai for all his work, and the Senpai for all his work. When the Senpai saw that the Kohai was being paid nearly triple the amount he got- and that the amount he got was barely half of what he’d normally get- he went to his Boss full of anger.

“Why does the Kohai get paid more than me, who has so faithfully worked for you these many years?”

To which the Fairy replied: “I hired you both, and swore I would pay you fairly for your work- and you swore you would work for every wage I gave you. Thus is our agreement.

If I wanted the Kohai to do _your_ work, I would have asked him- but since he did it anyway, I’m paying him for his work. **That’s what I agreed to do** . -Now tell me, friend Senpai: What did **_you_ ** agree to do?”

Of all the Fairy Stories I’ve heard, that one has the ring of truth to it.)

Based on my limited reference, I feel comfortable saying tentatively that Fairy, whatever else they might be, are good at being distractions.

 

* * *

 

[ Rocket Man ](https://youtu.be/-LX7WrHCaUA) is a sea train that was built as a… what’s the phrase… proof of concept? Prototype? According to Mr. Iceburg, he and his old master, Tom (Tom “Old” Shipwright, Alberich “Sooty” Ravelle, “Fix-it” Felix Jr. and Bobbin “Needlepoint” Stitchworthy; those were the Apprentices at the Faeland Docks, some fifty years ago), built the Rocket Man along with his fellow apprentice, Franky. Due to various events, Old Tom was killed by the fucking Bluebeaks, and his apprentice, Franky, got- some plans for something called Pluton. CP9, and by extension, the Bluebeaks, have been after him ever since, because Mr. Iceburg and Franky were the only ones aware of the exchange- but, with CP9 having taken both Robin and Franky, the situation must have changed. Mr. Iceburg promised to look after our stuff and what remains of our ship, as long as we took the Rocket Man train to rescue our crewmate and his… brother?

I mean, we were gonna go anyway, and Captain basically already said yes, so- honestly, it’s like robbing that bank, once you empty out one vault it’s not that much more effort taking everything not nailed down or easily pried up.

 

Pluton, Pluton- Pluto? Back when I had access to Saturn, Pluto was- hmm. Ow. Okay. Try something else, another direction- Chronos is the actual name of Saturn’s power, and my Grana Elphame (that’s not right ow) guards the entrance to it- gnnngh, okay, okay, uh, Saturn is a library, but it isn’t just a library it’s- ow ow ow ow. Fffuck. Okay. Okay. Not today.

Soon, but not today. There are logical inconsistencies in my memory but I just don’t have time right now to burn all the lies out. Soon. But not today.

  


I don’t know much of anything about trains, but- this is the most scrunched I’ve ever been? While sitting, I mean. I’ve never sat next to Sanji or Zoro, or between Sanji and Zoro- why am I sitting between Sanji and Zoro this is really squished and uncomfortable, this is the most uncomfortable bench I’ve ever sat in, Nami why did you make me sit- Ack, no, that’s a sword hilt, no no- ow ow, it’s in my ribs- and we’re starting to-  move? Uh oh.

There’s an old woman driving? I think you drive? A train, I mean. And we’re mo-oving on the tracks I guess- oh no. oh no oh no oh no. Urgh. Ooooh no. Oh no.

 

“Mab? What’s wrong, love- you’ve gone pale-”

“I- uurk- I- oh, I get really motion-sick on anything other than a- uuuurghk- a boat or my own wings oh god-”

“Uh. I don’t really-”

“Knock me out.”

“What.”

“Either you or Zoro need to knock me out right now because I will start vomiting and I will not stop, knock me out-”

“-HOLD IT. IF ANYONE’S ADMINISTERING CRANIAL TRAUMA, IT’S ME.”

“Chopper-?”

 

_Thw-crack!_

 

“-Is she really that dangerous? And, um, Boss, what’ve you got for me?”

“I mean it Sevvy, under no circumstances should you trust Aradia Stardust Morgan’s word. She does not speak the truth, ever; she zigs her words worse than any pecker bolt- Sevvy, she’s like you: you need to be careful of her because she’ll do what it takes to survive.”

“Ah.”

“Right. -Anyway. Bitter Orange, your next mission is in Water 7. Our last dispatch from that Island stated that a True Copy of the Pluton plans had been misplaced there. Your mission is to destroy those plans- and no, there is no time limit to your mission, as this comes direct from the Chronology Office; your payments will be forwarded to the usual accounts. Do try to keep casualties at a minimum, this time: I do not want another instance of the Leather Town fiasco, and I especially do not want another Shirtwaist Factory, is that clear-?”

“I gotcha Boss. No fuckups; no worries. Join up with the Local?”

“Yes. Orders and supplies are being relayed to your position- head out when you get them. Dropzone is as usual; safe flight, safe travels, and happy hunting.”

“Yesher. See you when I see you.”

“Yes, I’ll see you then.”

 

I hang up the crab-phone, and make a notation on my Log. Danelphe was very clear- Madame Stitchworthy, former Grana Mariner, my predecessor and teacher, wrought an embargo on the distribution of information about the Twelve Ancient Weapons. As her successor, it is my duty to ensure that her edicts are carried out.

(Although weapon is a mistranslation, they aren’t actually weapons. Pluton’s original purpose was for terraforming, not destruction. However, people have been people since before the written word- and anywhere two people want one thing, if they are of a kind, they find some way to share it, or if they are not- Built in Water 7 by Tom-a-Line and Margo, Pluton traded king’s hands until finally it came to rest in the hands of the Nefertari family of Sandy Island, where it has stayed ever since.)

 

I sit back from my desk- it’s a honey colored wood, massive shelves on the side for my typewriter and my sewing machine; a box on the bottom shelf at my side full of paper; one shelf up has notions and my hand sewing box. On top of the desk- my files, my crab-phone, my lamp. The room is dim, pale pink walls covered over in corkboards a flurry with missives, lists, receipts, notations, bounty posters, newspaper clippings-

I spin around on my stool, stand.

Pace to the window.

Outside, my Dock rumbles with a steady throbbing energy. Slim figures rush to and from; runners in their sleek abbreviated uniforms dart with glistening skin; workers in their overalls bicker, chatter, work, live- and in the drydock, a sleek ship is forming. Thin ribs of white Adam Wood and the stark white hull of an un-named _rivage_ being pulled together with long yellow ropes and the steady chanting chatter of men and women all turned to a purpose.

I watch the ship being built for a long moment- I’m so busy, so many things yet to do- and still, I stretch a moment into hours, merely to watch a ship being built. A marvelous moment of theatre. I’m almost ready to get the Coat; I’ve adjusted so far to having thick denim or leather pants, to the white dress, but the coat- That’s a different kettle of- a knock?

Yes, a knock. Quite a- quite a forceful one, actually.

I adjust my glasses, and make sure there are no dangling threads or bits of sawdust clinging to my white tunic-dress- wouldn’t do to answer the summons looking uncomposed, after all.

At my door, I pause- manifests on corkboard, pinned stacks of correspondence and cloth shining lines of taped wind over blank, uncharted blue-

What I wouldn’t give to leave all this and go find out what lies on that wild Line across the world. Ach, but those are childish Dreams- I have responsibilities, I am to be the new Grana Mariner, and- well, I best attend to my door.

 

It’s a messenger? Not one of mine, it’s- smells of smiley oil, sharp and sweet and fresh, fruity top notes and sensual underneath- orange? Some kind of citrus- and it’s… a royal messenger, they’re the only ones who are allowed to carry this kind of correspondence-

Tooled leather case, fine vellum parchment with the Royal Saffron ink-

 

_-Heiress Mab, there has been a terrible disaster-_

 

* * *

 

 

I’m sorry, Boss. After everything that happened- I never- I’m a Mariner. I was your mariner, and you sent me to do a worthy thing, you sent me to destroy what ought to have been destroyed. I was waiting for the drop, and I fell into a conversation with a woman- perhaps a man? Feathers in their hair like snakes, accusatory crown of peacock’s eye-feathers and spotted woodpecker forewarnings against their throat- and their voice was so… droning? I don’t- I don’t know what I said. I don’t know what I said. I don’t know what I said and I don’t know what I said and I don’t know what they said- but I was the only one who knew your mother’s schedule as well as you did.

After school, after we both grew up a bit, we became- working partners, at the least, and and I don’t know what I said- your mother loved her hedonistic pleasures, and she loved to swim in the waters beneath the falls and we had jokingly said that a rock would smash her head in one day and I don’t know what I said I don’t know what I said to them but they smiled and their smile was so- so- so-

Sorry, boss. I- I was always better at Illusions than you- you can see through anything eventually, but caught off guard it’ll still take you a moment to see it and I and I and I don’t know what I said or did there’s a blank spot and then the the the droning Siren was thanking me and wishing me luck on my journey.

Oh Boss. I’m so sorry. When I finish this mission, I’ll be- promoted to your old post. As if I can manage your post. As if making a fairy do something other than fly- when that’s what they’ve chosen to do- isn’t a polite death threat. I just have to escort this blue-tit jackie to her execution docket, and then- quick quick like a flicker, grab and destroy those damn plans. The one’s in Iceburg’s safe are fakes- all the writing is nonsense, you can’t build a damn thing from them. Pretty enough, in their way- but worthless to me.

You told me not to trust her- well, I don’t. I don’t care what her orders are- doesn’t matter that I’m to retrieve those plans for Pluton now, I won’t do it. The Mariners were created to be Grana Line’s will manifest, and She’s not Grana Line. She’s not my Boss. You were my boss. As the last act of a once loyal Mariner, I’ll do this- and having twice betrayed my oath, I’ll be… I. I don’t want to die. All the others in Citron Company died; but-

I don’t want to die.

But this isn’t living.

I'm not doing this- it's killing me to do this and I'll die if I don't.

Sorry Boss; we're both too good at what we do to do this the nice way.

 

* * *

 

Usopp and Chopper are really scared now; when Chopper knocked out Mab, he also knocked out one of the more stable people on the crew. I shouldn’t- it’s a bit… childish. It’s not essential for me to comfort them, they’re old enough to comfort themselves. But- I can remember wanting someone to comfort me, and only having my Sensei and my memories; Kuina’s book and my sword. I ended up following my sword- but I didn’t… fff. If they laugh at me, I’ll- I don’t know. Something awful. If they laugh, I’ll do something absolutely awful.

 

“...And of the sea, there were thus; the daughters of Aegir and Ran are nine, and their names are recorded before: Himinglæva, through which one can see heaven; Dúfa, the pitching one; Blóðughadda, the blood-haired; Hevring, the rising; Unn, the frothing wave; Hrönn, the welling wave; Bylgja, who billows; Dröfn, the foam fleck, the comber; and quiet Kólga who feeds the fish and brings the winter. It is said that when the nine moons dance under the same sky, the mighty daughters of Ran the Sjórisar and Aegir the Sjórisar dance as well- for it is them the moons were made for, and it is their names the moons hold. Titania, keeper of the earth, made the nine moons for their name-day presents; Grana Line placed them in their courses. And so the water comes.”

“...I thought Mab was the only one who knew Fairy lore?”

“Fairytales aren’t useful for anything except children’s stories in the East Blue, Usopp. Sanji knows a lot of Fairylore, but… well, he’s a bit busy.”

“Hmm. I always remembered the Eddas myself- all the Talltales, you know?”

“Sure. The stories about Giants and such are always fun to hear-”

 

 

I’m so glad that worked.

 

The train ride- fast as Rocket Man is, it still takes us most of the afternoon to get there- but as we approach the wall of Enies Lobby, the sun blazes in the sky. If Mab were awake, I could ask her what the hell’s with that- it’s a crapshoot if she’d actually be able to remember, but she’d be able to give me some sort of clue to which piece of Fairylore I’d need to reconsider; as it is, the best I can think of to explain why the sun probably always shines over Enies Lobby is a dying fairies final act of pure spite.

No one really wants to live somewhere the sun never sets, after all. No sunset, no sunrise- no stars and moonlight and soothing moon-flowers to draw a lover by the hand into a velvet dark-

 

Rocket Man doesn’t have breaks. Can just barely see the island as a point on horizon. Water wall.

 

“No, I don’t see a wall.”

“Nope. Don’t see a wall.”

 

And then Luffy and I cut through the wave like a cannon. We stay on the roof of the train, waiting. My chest is tingling. Battle’s coming. Train cars floating in the water.

Swordsman- challenge.

I meet the challenge.

 

* * *

 

I was so proud to be named successor to the old Grana Mariner. So, so proud. It’s- to be named Grana (Gran if you're male), to be considered the best choice to lead an entire Office of the Realm; I was…

And now I am to be Queen. I am to be Grana Line.

-I don’t want to. I was agreeable to the prospect of continuing the Line when my betrothed was still living, but with Sanji- gone- I will instead have to entertain my choice of concubines and lovers, like Mother, after Rouge disavowed her. I do not disparage my Mother her lifestyle, nor her actions in retaining her Honor- the fulfilment of a Promise takes precedent over all else, after all. -Her life has been harsh enough, I do not begrudge her what pleasures she can find. Both her beloved, dead; what children may have come from their unions, dead- surely, if some pale comfort, some tide of joy could be found in the faceless arms of nameless men and women- surely, I could not begrudge her such.

But- it is not what I chose for myself. It is not what I choose for myself.

When the news came from the Mariners in that my betrothed had died- or been killed, more likely- I… I threw myself into my studies, devoted myself to finding a trade or a skill that truly spoke to me. I found sewing; and eventually, the Mariners found me. My job is- was- to oversee the Prop and Costume Department of the Office of Mariners- eventually, I would have been named Grana of the Mariners. Madame Stitchworthy saw my work, and discerned my commitment, and- she named me her successor. My job- the job I was training for would have been to oversee the movements, areas of concern, and deployment of the Sky Blue Mariners. The Low Blues need watching after all, especially the Grand Line itself. My current assignments were veiled training courses for just such a promotion- and I was… I was enjoying my work. I enjoy my work- solving each problem that arises, finding solutions- working the problem.

In the end, even the most complex impossible tasks can be broken down into a series of problems. And I- I learned long ago that the only way to get through a problem is to work it. Work the problem; the thing that will kill you can be defeated, if only you can think of a way how. And then, on to the next, and the next and the next- but what matters right now is right now.

The Wind does not howl.

 

I’m starting to understand what Granuna meant- the world may turn and turn, but there is a point at its center where it does not move. And each of us, in our turn, are our own worlds. My world ended because my mother died. My world ended because Grana Line died.

A rock in the waters where she liked to bathe fell, stove in her head, and her body was swept away in the waters before any aid could be rendered. And so a world ends.

And yet- and yet, in the turning of the wheel, is it not the center that does not move? In Mother’s wake, I become the center of our people’s wheel- and so, I must not move.

The Wind does not howl.

I- it is not so bad, perhaps. Having children will not be so bad. I- I am old enough, and I am fertile, and… and it’s only fornication. Who knows? Perhaps, in the fullness of time, the children I bear into this world will love me. It’s not- not what I was expecting, not how I wanted my life to go, but- I can, I can make this work, right? Of course!

I am Portgas D. Mab Boudicca Morgan, and this will not defeat me!

 

(I will never be Free to Sail the Sea, will I?)

  
  


I wake to a rumbling crash. I realize I’ve locked my legs around Sanji’s waist by the strangled moan locked behind his teeth- oh, right, I usually only do that when we-

 

“-Later, love. We’ve a crewmate to rescue; as I recall, Mr. Iceberg did give us some valuable information about what’s going on. -Also, who’s the guy in the speedo? When did we get a guy in a speedo?”

“Tha-at’s Franky.”

“...the guy who attacked Zoro?”

“No, those were his family- but yeah, sort of? Apparently he’s got beef with CP9, and sort of- Luffy thinks he’s cool.”

“ **Ah.** Well. ...oh god I think I’ve gone blind-”

“Shush. My shirts are worse.”

“Yeah, but I give you an exemption because you’re cute.”

“...You think I’m cute?”

 

I huff into his face, my face and neck and ears burning. The rumbling of stone finally quiets, meaning it should be safe to make our way into battle. I press a kiss to my husband’s mouth, press my forehead against his, breathe him in- musk, sandalwood, seafood, cigarettes. My husband. Press another to his lips because- I like him. Like, a lot. **_Sentiment._ **

I accidentally smeared a bit of my makeup on his forehead. Platinum blonde hair flopped back from his face, all spiral eyebrows and hooded gaze. He looks- fierce. His eyes are- dark. Like wine. Red flush from the apple of each cheek across the bridge of his nose I want to kiss him- I- no, we’re doing something right now. We’re going to go save Robin right now. But later- Oh yes. Later.

 

I climb off of Sanji, hop onto a bench, and squeeze out the window. On the dusty, shredded roof, I glare at the blazing oppressive whiteness of the civil-city in front of us. Apparently we picked up some giants and- okay, a bunch of Galley-la workers? What? No, not important-

The wind here is strange- oh, I see. It’s a giant vortex- the burning sunlight above us hovers over a massive island, settled onto pillars of stone. Below is a curling roaring vortex of water. This is- this is a drain, this was a spillway and enough of it got maintained that it still works as a spillway; not sure about the sun thing, but- aha, those whirlpools must only be active like that when the gates are closed. If we can’t open them, we won’t be able to sail away from here.

Sharp. Smell of oranges on the wind. Can’t narrow down from where, whirlpools kicking up too much wind. No radio for her- all contact must be via handlers. Wish I hadn’t gotten motion-sick quite so badly; Nami had a baby Den Den Mushi back there.

Have a plan now.

Half a plan is still a plan.

I climb back through the window.

My crewmates haven’t gone anywhere quite yet- I was only gone about thirty seconds.

 

“Okay, here’s the plan- Luffy.”

“Neh Mab?”

“Go do what you do, I trust you.”

“Yosha~!”

“ **EEEEH?!?** ” shouts the crew.

“Like he’ll follow a plan I lay out for him.” I say.

“...Fair enough.” they say.

“Right. Zoro, Sanji- try and back Luffy up, but when you lose him, don’t worry about it. Your priority is Robin- if there’s information you find, we’ll have to- eh," I say. I gesture to Nami's wrist. "Yeah, just go for it. Usopp, I’m going to cause a massive distraction- when I do, find yourself a nest up high and thin the herd. This old spillway garrisoned approximately 10,000 people, and I don’t doubt the damn Bluebeaks have kept things more or less to code. Conserve your special ammo unless you see an opportunity. Oh, and if you see me fighting, it’s only okay to shoot at me when I’m facing you- right now, I can only dodge what I can see. Nami?”

“Mab?”

“...I have the toughest job for you. You were a cat burglar, right?”

“...I’m not liking where this is going, but okay.”

“Right, well- the island aqua-approach is impossible due to violent whirlpools made when the gates are closed. You need to find the gatehouse, open the gates, and keep them open. Fair?”

“Fair. Usopp fixed my weapons, so it should be a breeze- and that cloud whip I got in Skypiea should help too.”

“Eisen Dial in the hilt, right?”

“Yep. I’ve got mist-bombs too- you’re sure they’ll work?”

“If Usopp followed the recipe I gave him, yeah, they’ll work.”

“Okay. How are you going to stay in contact with us?”

"I'm not- I'll be focusing on keeping Bitter Orange off of all of you guys. That's almost certainly going to take nearly the entire time we're here."

"...Really?"

"Nami, up until now I've been pretty much playing- although not against Aokiji, but everyone else we fought? Not actually terribly dangerous for me, especially. Bitter Orange is different."

"...How?"

"-So anyway, I’m going to shadow you and Usopp- when the distraction comes, head out. The layout of this garrison is relatively set- they could have moved the gatehouse, but I doubt it. That said, since Robin was taken here, it only makes tactical sense to place Bitter Orange on the walls. Which is why I’m going to draw her out- she’ll kill you and Usopp if she isn’t busy.”

“She’s here?”

“Oh yeah. She’s here. Robin too- we need to retrieve her before the Bluebeaks can actually send her on to actual real jail. May I have a mist-bomb please?”

“Um, just one?”

“Just one. Ah, thank you.”

“Mab… what exactly are you going to do?”

“...It’s better if you don’t know. Oh, and Chopper- stay with Nami, please.”

“Mab-”

I climb back out the window.

  


(A mist-bomb is a type of Sky-weapon actually meant for distractions while flying; it creates a big cloud of thick mist, and can be used by a skilled flighter to confuse and disorient their opponent. A cloud whip is a handheld device generally used in aeroboat construction. In lower Blues, the cloud whip could be used as a weapon, but only by a very skilled whip user.

Nami is not a very skilled whip user. She _is_ a born Navigator; the only reason she doesn’t understand everything about the weather is because she hasn’t been formally educated in the subject. Meaning the Eisen whip is really a _wand_ in her hands. Specifically, as she’s untrained in the Weather Arts, it’s an amplifying wand.)

 

Firmly ignoring all the stupid questions my crewmates might have for me- no, not important, let’s go let’s go let’s go go go go.

We tromp through the shattered train gates and into the triple ranks of what looks to be a firing squad. The smell of oranges is overwhelming.

 

“What’s with the orange smell? Did someone clean this area or something?” says Usopp.

I sigh.

“Get ready for that distraction, friends.”

And then I crush the tiny Cloud Dial allowing the highly pressurized fog-bank to reach the low-pressure area which- Then I hook my elbow around Bitter Orange’s throat and fling her into the air. She’s wearing her fighting gear- something like my swimsuit, an abbreviated helm considering it’s mostly just a face guard and her goggles- orange tinted- and she’s flipping herself over- I need to get up there.

“Have fun, guys.”

And then I crack myself into the air, slamming the full weight of my body behind my fists and thrashing her through the assembled riflemen.

She caroms through them with an indignant shriek.

I let out a whoop that back in the day meant something along the lines of “loser who can’t fly” but with this distinctive pejorative screech ringing through it all- and she yowls with outrage and booms up to me and now-

Dogflighting.

 

I boom away, the world turning into onrushing blurs and frighteningly still images- roll through the air and dive dive dive below the islands- Basic flighter maneuvers are tactical movements performed by flighter aerialists during air combat manuvering (referred to as dogflighting by the flighters), in order to gain a positional advantage over their opponent. The eventual purpose of every maneuver is to get behind the opponent and disable their wings, limbs, or head, thereby ending the conflict. The various schools of flighters have their own specific techniques for doing this- discounting Royals, who use the common techniques of Armament Unguis, basic Dial techniques, and their own strategic and tactical wits.

Roll aileron fluff it back and drop behind her she rolls throws a kick my way try to catch the ankle got her fuck up the tendon- she slipped out before I got to it damn roll through the air and boom we go water below us snarls let’s see how she deals with this drop down into the howling spray and flick flick flick and she follows me bound over each curve and roil white water rushing take the moment to breath your life in then boom Blink and flicker half a field away- and there she is, reach out to twist a wing nope slick little- fluff bounce up and roll swizzle to shed speed and flop to dodge her screeching claws Blink and I’m nearly level with the dropoff throw myself towards the sea where is she where is she there swoop and dive heavy dive dammit she doged wing her side scrape my claws through the slim spaces between her ribs on the left side floating ribs didn’t quite nick her lungs but a touch is a touch and whoop nearly- kick the air and blink and slalom through the the seaspray coming from the dropoff consider next moAUGH OW OW SHIT that was my LEG fucking-

Backspin and prepare to throw the aim, this will put me in a poor position but this is a serious flight, stop playing around Mab- bandit nearing flighting range fluff and break hard into the below the bandit duck the snap claws duck the kick and blink blink blink blink blink hover in front of a bank of windows start moving across them at what could be called a stroll here she comes get ready left kick roll and she goes right through. Follow after her instantly.

A courtroom, judge with three heads- there she is, crashed into a desk.

 

“Kinda slow there, Sev.”

“Suck my clit, Boobs.”

 

And then it’s on. Snarl a cackle but it’s not a cackle it’s that sound cats make but like those spotted leopard looking cats that are super duper pretty but and it’s maaaaaaaad at you and about then is when I remember how to do the thing- build it low in my throat let it bubble let it burn and then what comes out sounds exactly like a snake hissing and then there’s a sort of scream that goes with it and she’s doing the same thing it sounds horrible which is entirely the point and we’re circling each other there’s no up or down Bitter Orange is down right now and I need to just- hekhekhekhek and then we’re snarling screeching and screaming at each other-

Becomes a real cat fight and real catfights are nasty okay blood starts dripping over my stomach across my arms duck her flailing hands and slash over her eyes tinks off the goggles but slices up the bridge of her nose scuttle bound up the wall cling to the rafters she’s sitting on a blood spattered desk, glaring at me. Bandages up her nose. Cock my head to the left, the right. Feel it bubbling in my throat hot like acid going to vomit on her corpse-

 

“Gonna vom on your corpse, Sev.”

“Eat my shit and die, Boobs.”

 

-and we’re flighting again, this time indoors dodge a bullet- Usopp? Okay, whatever- no you don’t-

Bitter Orange always did keep her hair a little too long. My hand is holding a fist of her hair- I was never quite as good at the foot style of the Armament Unguis but for this I’ve pinned her wing between my foot and the bannister, my crew staring at us wide wide eyed-

 

“Get outta here, kids.” I grunt, tussling with Bitter Orange.

“MAB?” everyone shrieks.

“I got this, get out of here- go find Robin.”

“Oh, the blue-tit jackie? She’s being taken to the Gates of Justice. Next ship won’t be here for about- eh, three hours?” says Bitter Orange.

“...Bitter, you still do this?” I say.

“Well- uh, yeah, Boobs. Why?” she says.

“No, nothing- you still can't lie for shit though, what the hell Bitterbitch? Ah, you wouldn’t happen to know why Robin isn’t fighting back about anything, would you?” I say, hand firmly at the nape of her neck where the short, fine hairs are.

“Stitchbitch shut your hell up. Oh, um, uh- no sorry. I mean, at a guess it’s a threat to her crew somehow? Um, your crew, um, I mean, when we had- lunch, dinner, a meal together I guess, um- ow ow ow- she seemed pretty normal? Normal people tend to like their crewmates enough to not want them to get hurt and do stupid shit to stop it from happening? As if stopping other people from taking their actions is terribly controllable, but- um, she’s been pretty badly traumatised I think, and. Um. I think the fucking Bluebeaks-” she says.

“-lousy salt-grimed pieces of shit-” I say.

“- **Right?!?** \- I think the head Beak is threatening her with her old trauma but all new? And more terrible because she really does care about all of you, she really does-” she says.

“Stalling, Bitters? Really?” I say.

“Well, Tailor, I don’t know, it really seemed to work for you- OW OW OW OW OW-” she says, before I start pulling.

“So, yeah. Guys. Go get Robin.” I say.

“Uh… okay Mab.” says Usopp.

“Oh my god, you let them call you Mab? Ahahahaha-” she says through her tears of pain.

“Ceville, shut the hell up I swear to god-” I say, gritting my teeth.

“-hahahahahAhahahahaHAhahaaaaaaaaaaaa ow ow ow-” she says as I start to pull again.

 

My crewmates are gone up the stairs; the balcony is empty. I crouch down close to Bitter Orange’s head, fingers still woven into her hair.

 

_“Why are you trying to get me to kill you?”_

_“I can’t go back- my new orders are to retrieve the Pluton plans, but I still think your original orders were correct and should stand, they_ **_need_ ** _to be destroyed-”_

_“Obviously. So, I’m not killing you. Anyone going to know I didn’t? Because I’ve already killed a man I maybe didn’t need to, I’m not continuing the trend-”_

_“No, they- I can survive, I just need near mortal wounds? Enough that it’s impossible for me to actually get back to Sky Blue on my own, so if I miss my next drop-”_

_“Gotcha. -you do know what I’ll have to do to make it look good enough, right?”_

_“Yeah. I know.”_

_“Exit strategy?”_

_“Well- they don’t know where the drain goes, do they?”_

_“Nice. How you gonna keep from bleeding out?”_

_“Uh.”_

_“Ceville.”_

_“Can’t you just break my leg or something?”_

_“No. -I’ll need you to chase me, then lose me. When I find you after, I’ll- I’ll take care of things, and I can do a quick cautery at least, or put in stitches, and I’ve still got the speed to escape a Vision Dial-”_

_“Mab! Mab, it’s a good plan, it’s alright. How’d you want to start this?”_

_“Give my crew enough time to get farther in- so maybe some more flighting?”_

_“Sure. Spindow?”_

_“Ugh- fine. Just because I made you crash through a window into a desk fat tits first-_ Ack! Aaaagh!”

 

-so I’m through the window and gyaaaaaaaagh that’s a claw wow she’s pissed- I can’t actually tell if she means it or not- and then the flighting blurs. Slalom through the civil-city and tear at each other, snarling-

_-blink-_

-tear at her skin, tear through her skin with my Armament Haki Unguis lines of blood open up in my skin in my arms in my legs Mariner doctrine is to- change up change up need some space. Take the kusarigama from my hips here we go- need to take the tape out it’s too much drag-

Roll and dart forwards and there we go- she kicks back and I’m after her ass. Bitters pulls her daggers, simple [ curved affairs ](http://www.discountcutlery.net/assets/images/NewProductImages/BB0106.jpg) with a bright shine to them because they’re- yep, trying to make me lose my focus, but that’s not how to do it. Flash of spark to spark, down-pitch zoom-climb abbreviated just behind her and slash, roll with the kick and it settles over me. Battle calm.

 

I remember now- it’s been bred into the Morgan line for millennia, the ability to go- not a trance. It’s that cool, still feeling, like the surface of a lake high in the mountains, whatever currents may be roiling underneath; the clear blue sky so still and bright, no matter what the wind may be doing outside the sight of the living- the Wind does not Howl. My world becomes a sudden flicker of action and reaction to every motion and movement, flashes and flickers and the sudden vicious certainty that _I could kill her here and now and she could not stop me_. Simple steady movements that don’t lack passion, exactly- but there’s no doubt, no fear. My world is sharp, narrow. My movements are forwards and stop, side to side to side, back and forward again- and always, I face my bandit.

_-blink-_

 

Zoro and Sanji are arguing about who is better. The answer is Sanji, considering he married me and we have amazing sex. I’ll weigh in.

 

“SANJI IS BETTER CUZ HIS PENIS IS BETTER WHICH IS WHAT YOU’RE REALLY ARGUING ABOUT-”

“MAB STOP YELLING ABOUT MY PENIS-”

“I’LL YELL ABOUT YOUR PENIS IF I WANT TO-”

“KEEP IT UP AND I’LL TELL EVERYONE YOU THINK I’M CUTE IN A LOVEY-DOVEY WAY-”

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO~”

 

Zoro is laughing as he fights the marines. Well, it’s good he’s having fun. I’ll have to come up with a _special_ surprise for Sanji.

_-blink-_

 

Nami and Chopper are going through Marines like needles through cloth; Nami’s wand generates a terrifying boil of lightning laced nightmare. Chopper is throwing darts at Marines- shit I forgot to give Chopper a- no, wait, I did. Now that I think about it- Chopper might have something I can use.

Dive through Nami’s smoke screen, sliding stop near Chopper, roll under a glob of scattering hail and let Nami’s enraged cursing cover my actions.

 

“Chopper!”

“Mab- AH DOCTOR YOU NEED A DOCTOR-”

“They’re all closed already, this is all dried. Do you have any lunar caustics- um, silver nitrate, I need silver nitrate. I’ll take suture thread if you have it, but that’ll be trickier for my plan-”

“What do you need to cauterize?”

“I’ll tell you later if it works.”

 

I’m undoing the knot of the tape that creates drag in my kusarigama’s chain, pull it tight from each end grab the loop and slice through it’s middle, wrap my hands for fighting- I should have done it before but it’s been so long since I really flighted with anyone, I’m only now remembering [ what the hell to do ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/0b/d0/f6/0bd0f684e5921afe9326a8c7f8de18e1.jpg). Loop around the thumb, wrap around the wrist and back of the hand, one loop over each finger and around the base of the palm each time, wrap around the upper wrist again twist the tape and tuck into the finger loop at the end.

 

“...Here’s some thread. I don’t have any caustics for you.”

“Fair enough. You have any snacks? Oh, no? Okay, thank you for the thread- sorry, I wish I had more for you to do-”

“No, this is okay.”

“Ah. Alright- Oh! See if you can figure out where they’re keeping the boats- we do need an exit strategy.”

“...You didn’t come up with that before?”

“I would have if I was conscious on the ride here. Sorry.”

“No, I knocked you out-”

“Well, I asked you to-”

“MAB FIGHT YOUR FUCKING BATTLE ALREADY-”

“SORRY NAMI, I’M GOING-”

“FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT MARINE COCKSUCKERS-”

 

I throw myself into the air and jam a shin into Bitter’s ribcage and she yelps- and then I dart away. My chain rings behind me.

- _blink_ -

 

Aerocombatics are not fun. They’re basically the worst. High energy, low yield show-offing. It looks cool- but it’s some of the dumbest things you can do in a flight.

Kick into the air with your belly to the sun, shove yourself into loop after loop but sidereel to the buildings you’re slaloming through, zoom-rise up up up up and then turn your body over a slim branch and dive deep towards the earth last second feint and low altitude speed swimming is hell on the wings there’s so much grit and dust lower down kick up into a corkscrew and fishtail again with the slalom it’s been nearly an hour how much more can we do? Fuck it.

I roll onto my back and flick a hand up- we’re close enough together for me to use the old hand signals.

 

‘Low energy. Refuel and resume?’

‘A-O. One hour intermission?’

‘A-O. Resume at tall tower- prepare for Action.’

‘Places Set; resume in hour.’

 

And then I _blink_ behind a tower, and hold **absolutely still** in it’s shadow. Bitter Orange roars past; safe. I flick my wings matte black and _blink_ from shadow to shadow, then finally climb over the upper lip of the roof- into the sharp aiming eye of Usopp’s drawn- wow, that slingshot is huge. Does it have a name?

 

“Nice slingshot, Usopp. It have a name, or...?”

“Huh? Oh, uh- hey Mab. It’s- I’m thinking of calling it Kabuto.”

“Cool! So I’m watching your back for the next hour- you have any snacks?”

“Uh- yeah, actually. In my bag, front partition- trail mix, jerky, and water bottle should all be there.”

“Mind if I swipe some paint and a Wet Dial while I’m there?”

“Uh- sure? Planning something?”

“Just a little Fairy Trick, no worries.”

 

So here’s the thing- at speed, it’s all but impossible to take note of what is and isn’t blood flying off an aerialist. Which means for my next Trick-

 

There’s a sewing kit in my boot because it pays to be prepared so there’s always a sewing kit in my boot- two sewing needles, two fish hooks, and a [ very tiny folding knife ](http://img0089.popscreencdn.com/105442991_spyderco-bug-smallest-pocket-knife-keychain-tiny-nib-.jpg), not much bigger than a ten beri coin. Chopper gave me a spool of thread- I thread both the needles, and consider the ratio of pigment to water. Usopp has a paint cup; I check the water in the Wet Dial. Fresh.

Okay- there are salt packets in his bag. I grab one. I also grab his yellow paint, the black maybe, pair of chopsticks- that should do it. Settle down with my back to Usopp; drink water, eat food. Mix the color, add salt for viscosity, fill the Dial. Listen to the steady thumping creak of Usopp sniping into the crowded, uproaring civility. Settle into a state of just- waiting.

Have you ever been to a zoo? There are all kinds of animals in zoos; predatory, omnivorous, prey, scavengers- I’m waiting like that. Like, there are, oh- tigersharks, like Zoro, monkeys like Luffy- I’m more like… a scorpion, maybe? Or one of the scavengers, a raven.

There’s been a pause ongoing for a few minutes- so I feel it’s safe enough to ask.

 

“Hey Usopp.”

“Yeah Mab?”

“If you were an animal, would you be a chameleon or an armadillo?”

“Uh- well. I like both of them, so- couldn’t I be both?”

“Hmm- actually, yeah. On Fairisle, there’s a creature called a Chardrillo; they’re these adorable color changing sort of armadillo-like creatures? I’m not sure of the taxonomy, but-”

“Heh, really?”

“Yep.”

“Cool. ...Hey Mab- is Merry really going to be okay?”

“Yeah. The only thing that really went Wrong during conception was me making Crabshelly and Taffyscarf- the actual eggs are just fine, and if something does go wrong beyond what already happened... at this point there’s nothing I can really do.”

“...”

“Usopp, after a certain point you have to let the ship sail.”

“...Yeah. So- how did you learn to do that?”

“What, the egg thing?”

“Yeah. I mean, my father taught me how to shoot, and my mama taught me to draw- what about you?”

“Um- well, before I settled on being a seamstress, I went through quite a few different ideas of what I should be. Ah- my mother taught me fly, of course, and there’s a pretty extensive schooling system so… but let me see- first it was performer, but then I discovered I have terrible stage fright, so even though I have some skill in the dramatic arts- singing, not so much acting, and definitely dancing- I ended up just going to those classes to keep my skills sharp, and to, um. Well, after that, I thought- hey, maybe doctor? But I was only able to get to a midwife’s skill certification; I’m actually trained as a midwife and a nurse? But they only give the fancy doctor coats to people who can actually get through all the doctor’s courses, so I’m not a doctor. I mean, I am a midwife, and one of the things we get taught as midwives is how to birth various kinds of babies- and some babies come from eggs, and in rarer cases- not so rare it doesn’t actually happen though- some babies just need eggs made for them to come out of. You follow?”

“Oh, yeah- sure. So… what led to being a seamstress?”

“Um… well. I was sixteen, and in Fiddler’s Green you pick what you are by seventeen at the very latest- you’ve got some wiggle room for the next three years but after that… Um. In all my pre-picks, what really entranced me was- sewing, making. In the performing arts, I was really there for the costumes, and I was always spending time backstage watching the costumers working on what we wore; and when I was doing my doctoral studies, what I loved most was learning all the stitches. Helping women have babies is pretty cool, I won’t lie, but- yeah.”

“Sorry- you picked what you were going to be at **_seventeen_** _?”_

“I- yes, I did. I was actually about two years late, we’re really supposed to pick at fifteen. Um- Fae have a caste system? I don’t- there’s some choice, I suppose, but the choices depend on your caste. My caste was right in the middle- not as low as the Ignobles, but not as high as the Nobility; I became… I became the Queen of the Fae because Mother died, and I was the only one of her children who was of an appropriate age, and also female. Normally, it wouldn’t have happened.”

“...So you never wanted to be a queen?”

“No, god no. I was… eh, I doubt it matters- I’m effectively dead, so, um. I was basically the head propmaster and seamstress for the biggest theatre company in Fiddler’s Green? Which also happens to be the spook house- the spies house, um. Fairies are actors because we’re spies, first. -and of course, I am a bastard, which isn’t Illegal anymore but it’s definitely improper-”

“Oh. _Oh_. So- wait, you’re-”

“I’m no good at it. That’s why, at best, I’m a scout or a seamstress; I’m no good at longer engagements, but I can find the finer details pretty quickly and I don’t forget them, ever.”

“...So what you’re saying is you’re a little weird and obsessive?”

“Well- so are you? Like, Usopp, do you know why you oversalt all your food?”

“I do?!?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay- why?”

“Because you’ve licked so much gunpowder off your hands over the years, you’ve started to miss the taste of it- so you dump salt in all your food.”

“Whaaaat?!?”

“Yeah. I’m also pretty sure I know why Luffy eats so much meat.”

“Okay, throw it down.”

“No power comes for free- **especially** Devil Fruit powers. Every time Luffy uses his rubberman powers, he also tears all his muscles to shit- every time he moves, really. The meat provides enough proteins for his body to quickly regenerate what he fucks up- and he must have _astonishingly_ high muscle mass. Have you ever tried hugging him when he’s tensed up? It’s like hugging a shark.”

“...I thought Zoro would be more sharky-?”

“Eeeeh- While Zoro is best represented as a tiger shark, he’s actually- okay. The reason he sleeps so much? He’s too used to fighting, and he doesn’t feel comfortable doing his hobbies in front of other people yet.”

“Wait- what _are_ his hobbies?”

“Um- considering what I know of him and his character? Something traditional, but very refined- not something you’d expect. He enjoys music but not enough to make it, I’d have noticed him dancing along- it’s something rhythmic, he’s got too fine a sense of rhythm for it not to be… so- probably poetry. Maybe calligraphy to work on his finesse? In which case, traditionally, poetry is what you inscribe.”

“...Poetry? From _Zoro?”_

“There’s more going on in his head than booze, swords, and sleeping. There has to be.”

“Luffy?”

“...Okay, well, first of all, Luffy’s dyslexic. S’why he doesn’t really read much- the letters swim around for him, so he just ignores it. Remember in Alabasta? He didn’t say what the sign was, you did-”

“-were you even there for that?”

“Feels like I was. Well, you were there, do you remember?”

“...Um. Well, actually, yeah- yeah, I said what the sign was, or maybe Zoro did? But after that, he said we’d go the way the sign said-”

“Right. Because he didn’t read it, you guys did. He always gives Nami the maps, and- anyway. I think because he can’t read words clearly, he got discouraged about music because Luffy- loves music. He _loves_ music.”

“Is there reading in music?”

“Yeah, but- music is mostly really interesting mathematics, not… and Luffy is _not dumb;_ he’s not book smart, but he’s _not dumb._ If someone took the time to teach him an instrument, or even how to sing- he’d probably really love it. He just- he’s got an optimistic attitude and he doesn’t care what people think of him. He has unshakeable self confidence- and his logic can be a bit oblique to follow, but... being simplistic and being stupid are very different. It’s like- he’s very carefully designed to do one thing, and that thing is become the King of Pirates. Also, sometimes his towering self-confidence rubs off on the crew?”

“..Yeah. Yeah it does. ...Um, you said that babies would hatch out of eggs? Should we really have left them alone?”

“Eeeh… probably not, but they won’t hatch out as babies, they’ll- at worst, they’ll be young children. My money’s on teenagers though. Merry especially.”

“Really? She was only built about ten years ago-”

“Well, I can tell you right now, as a maker of things- for big complicated projects that you _know_ you’re going to make, you can spend two, five, ten, twenty years going over the idea in your head because- because you can feel it’s just not ready yet, you’re not ready to make it yet. You figure out exactly what it looks like, what it might feel like, you find colors and shapes and the sound of it; you figure out what techniques you’re going to use, what you’re not, and then you draw it out, and the drawing you make might take another ten years before you’re satisfied- and you see where this is going, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

"So... Teenager. Probably around your age, maybe a year older."

Usopp didn’t look over at me, but there was a definite aura of something, some kind of emotion.

 

Damned if I know what, though.

I’ve got about ten minutes left in my intermission. Robin’s been locked up with seastone cuffs, and members of CP9 have the multiple keys needed- including the Fairy member of CP9, who could be anywhere. Welp. Stand, chafe some of the dried blood off my unbroken skin; make sure my face is clean, or clean enough. Helmet is too covered in blood and bits- need to leave it behind.

 

“Usopp, I’m leaving my helmet behind with you- can I have some rubber bands though?”

“Uh- okay, sure?”

“Thank you.”

 

Quick fix- overts built to wipe clean and they do, rubber bands attach them to my glasses, another rubber string keeps the temples to temples and- smell of orange oil.

Tension- places, places.

Two minutes- one minute- shell in pocket, needles threaded, time’s up.

For my next Trick, I’m going to make a pair of Fairy wings disappear.

7- 5- 3, 2, 1, action!

  


I punch Bitter Orange in the jaw, shove my shoulder into her sternum, and throw her off the roof. Showtime.

 

“See you later, Usopp.”

“Yeah.”

 

And then I dive after Bitter Orange.

 

_-blink-_

Sanji fighting a wolfman. Scratch across her belly roll under her flaring wide-angle kick smash her through another window with a kick-

_-blink-_

Zoro fighting a giraffe. Doge errant sword slashes, yank Bitter Orange’s hair back in my fist and slug her one two three four in the chest belly twice to the gut take a kick to the sternum and gasp roll through the air and shatter the wall-

_-blink-_

Nami beating the ever loving piss out of a bubble woman. Flip and slide across the soapy floor she tears a stripe of blood through my back my side my leg hook it over her neck and whole body twist slam her skull into the ground it bounces but she’s rabbiting rabbiting no you **don’t** -

_-blink-_

Chopper setting a bomb-? Shit shit shit shit shit owowowowowaaaaaaaaaaaugh-

_-blink-_

Luffy fighting a leopard- shit shit shit nope-

_-blink-_

Usopp behind me, Bitter’s ahead. Dart forwards, roll through the air, grab her shoulders really hook in and throw her as hard as I can-

_-blink-_

_-blink-_

_-blink-_

_-blink-_

_-blink-_

_-blink-_

_-blink-_

 

**_Stitching Style: In Time Save Mine!_ **

 

I’ve wrapped my legs around her waist- behind me, the flag of the World Government flaps in the wind. Sharp tweak to the joints, tweak the nerves and her wings reflexively crumple; shift the _moment_ , change the _beat_ ; push her wings back into- there’s a sort of fleshy sac in Fae backs (if they have wings), right near the spine and shoulder blades that our wings can actually fold into when the weather is truly brutal. Push wings in there, one needle for each side stitches zigzagging up then down her back crossover stitches, tie off. Two seconds.

 

Fae Magic (even the illusory stuff is a kind of magic) is like this- every Tribe of Sky Blue has their own technical expertise.

Djinn transform.

Sirens believe.

Cherumib remember.

Fairies trick.

(And Automata don’t forget.)

 

But the actual illusion will not stand scrutiny without the base component of Saturnus- you need _time_ , or... more like, a _memory_ of time. A memory of a time.

This is how Conis’ illusion house worked- everything we saw there, the unbroken minutiae, the unstained furnishings and the scent of fruit and flowers, the father we met that was hers- those were _her memories_ , those were _her memories_ **_of him_ ** ; memories made manifest in this plane of reality. At one point, Conis had a father- at one point, her father said to her what he said to Sanji and me. Because he never actually spoke to Sanji and me, whatever we remember. He was long dead before we ever could have met. (This is what Dauna Elphame guards- memories.)

(This is what I did to my brother- I OW OW OW OW OW.)

Similarly, when I tear Bitter Orange’s wings off, splattering myself and her and the flag behind us both with hot, steaming blood, flinging the shining wings into the air behind me where they shatter on the wall behind the flag the waters rushing below us the agonized scream- all of this is just and merely my memory, it’s not what I’ve actually done.

Not this time.

Not to her.

 

She slips a key into my pocket. My speed is always in making- but most Actor’s speed lies in _doing_. I do actually fling her flailing body into the frothing waves below. She falls headfirst and does not scream. I watch as the roiling water devours her whole. Blood-colored water drips from my body.

A man is screaming. I turn, and look- some asshole standing next to a beaten up Robin. _That man beat up Robin._ He’s talking on his snail? Robin looks horrified- something’s happened.

In the distance, the rattle of drums.

 

* * *

 

Tight. Warm safe. Dark. Light. Dark. Light. Voices- Robin? Who is Robin? _Fanila_ . Where is Robin? _Danger!_ No. They left us. Left us behind- tension mounting tighter tighter tighter too tight- No.

Kick. Twist. Wiggle. Rock. Rock Rock- crack! Pierce of light. That way out- follow the light. Out of fire, air- my skin I have skin I have have, hands I have feet, stumble wobble wobble ache of feet stand knees knocking legs locking stand- stand- STAND. Wet. I am wet. I am cold. My skin is cold. I am- I _am_ . I’m- alive. I am a living thing- I am not a normal being. [ But I’m alive, I’m alive ](https://youtu.be/EIKG3oDHFYc)!

 

I need to go- I need too- they’re going to need us, I need- stagger, stagger, walk, stagger- striped pants, red tunic- mine, these were made for me, I remember _ouna_ Mab making them for me, clothing, I’m a person, I’m a-? Doesn’t matter, find out later- clothing. Put it on- I’ve seen them do it, it’s just like sailing there’s an order of steps; underwear? One foot, left foot, other foot right foot in the holes- wide side at the back? Yes, pull them up, they cling but it’s- comforting? Slippery. Anchor on my right ankle, mark of- Before. Pants- black, striped long- wrong. Like my sail? Yes. Still wrong; black pants, right; loose. Zoro's? Robin's. Red skin shirt; Mab’s. Red tunic. Tunic is not right. Tunic pulled off, put back onto the chair. Need an overshirt- Sanji’s shirt. White shirt, dark red shoulders- buttoned most of the way closed, Red scarf left behind- sash, Usopp’s. Belt around my ribs, let the shirt-tails hang. Pull on my shoes.

 

Wobble, stand, walk- other eggs rocking. Ignore.

 

Catch myself on sink in- head, bathroom. Stare at the mirror. How did that song go- _your beauty is beyond compare with flowing locks of auburn hair, with ivory skin and eyes of_ \- coal black; ivory skin more close to yellowed bone, hair the red of nearly blood and not auburn at all. Smile? It’s huge, goofy, brightens my eyes to shining. Stand again. Something missing- my _flag_ , where is my flag- stagger back out. Ignore the flailing limbs of someone pale and dark haired; push my shell out of the way, try not to spill slime or drip slime pull out- heavy weight silk, our Jolly Roger stitched- no, painted. My flag. Tie the flag around my shoulders, let it fall painted side out. Heavy, but- right enough. Right enough for now.

I- I’m not-

Whimper- someone’s whimpering? Not me, not long-limbs flailing- soft, pudgy, impossibly strong- muscles like bands of iron under her skin- shhh.

 

“Shh. Shhh. You’re alright.” I say.

“Mmmngh. Uaaagh-” They groan.

 

White hair blazing with colors to the tune of their whimpers. Black eyes like a shark with a heavenly blue ring that can be seen with their eyes blown wide wide wide, skin hard like the hull of a ship but soft to the touch, skin flaring green in the light but brown overall, dark brown speckled with darker still; roll her onto her belly. She- they- gasp, wheeze. Slowly lift themselves into a kneel. Hair is short and thick and slimy, drying quick. Bob? Is that the name of the cut? Stay with them. Long limbed girl scrabbles over, lands in a crumpled pile of limbs and body, rolls head until chin is braced against the ground. Cracks open a big yellow eye, with a ring of pure darkness within- like a hawk’s eye, like a fox’s eye, how in the hell- blue shell has quieted. Rolls herself up into a child’s pose, a _seiza_ ; long limbed black and white shelled short dark haired yellow eyed girl flails into a crouch, bent knees ass and feet flat to the ground, palms flat to the floor and eyes staring at us. Crouching like a wild thing.

Blue shell blinks, and blinks again and says-

 

“Our crew’s in danger. We need to go.” says them.

“Yis.” says yellow eyes.

“You’re humanoid beings now- you need to wear clothing to help.” I say.

“Yis?” says yellow eyes.

“Yes.” says them.

 

Blue shell them blinks at their hands, their limbs- eyes flick and roll, then settle, shark eyes deep black holes ringed with heaven’s blue no white no sclera but they calm and their eyes shrink and shrink again and they are common eyes- blue shirt, filmy white skirt belongs to Nami. She grabs it for herself, puts on her underwear. Pulls on a cropped long sleeve hoodie that belongs to- belongs to- what are you doing, yellow eyes?

 

“Taffeta, m’name’s Taffeta. Call me Taffy.” says yellow eyes.

“What are you doing, Taffy?” I say.

“Trying to stand up. You are, and so’s Shell-n-claws, but-” says Taffy.

 

Her legs are- stuttering? Skipping. Not moving like they’re feeling right. I grip her around her ribs, take her to the nearest chair. Push her down to sit in it, rub my hands down her thighs down her calves down her ankles. Pull them straight and long, press each one to the floor. Her feet are narrow and bony. She sweats and sways gently from side to side. Her yellow eyes flash with worry.

 

“Get dressed on the chair- if it comes down to it, we’ll carry you onto the ship. I think it’s sealegs- you’ve never really been on anything like an island, always a- a tree or a person or something floating.” I say.

“Oh. Yis, sounds right.” says Taffy.

 

I hand Taffy her clothes; no. I hand Taffy the pants I discarded; black and white striped pants, her white skinshirt, another of Sanji’s shirts- plain white- she puts the shirt on before the pants, tucks it in. Her shoes are two toned lace up tight- oh, mine are sandals, strapped around my ankle- I’d forgotten the word. They- blue shell them is standing-

 

“What’s their name, yis?” says Taffy.

“Hmm? Oh- Bryony. I’m- Bryony.” says Bryony.

“I’m Merry-” I say.

“Yis, I know.” “Of course.” they say.

“But I’d rather be called Mark right now.” I say.

“Ho’kay.” says Taffy.

“Ah. Like how I’m a girl?” says Bryony.

“I- maybe?” I say.

“You figure it out, then tell us if h’you want- s’your bits.” says Taffy.

 

Merry Reed is the name my _ouna_ Mab gave me, but my name is- Mark. My name is [ Mark ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mary_Read). I hope she’s okay with that.

 

Bryony carries Taffy on her back under a waxed and oiled suit-jacket left behind in the lobby of the hotel, yellow eyes closed in a sliver, short cropped hair shining brown in the light. Taffy’s legs are locked around Bryony, her hand clamped on _ouna_ Mab’s sword, the tassel looped over her wrist. The belt for the sword _ouna_ Mab made while waiting for Aqua Laguna and Robin’s never-return is around her waist, above her hips. Bryony’s hood is tucked over her head; I’ve taken a hat from the lobby of our hotel, [ a shipwright’s cap ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/54/8c/c9/548cc986994cf6cbffba0a2b09266f76.jpg), tucked my shoulder-long wavy red hair up into it. We run through watery streets, cut through sheeting rain; Bryony and I bound over rushing rivers of water steadily glimmering in half-twilight it’s not sunset yet, not near sunset but the rain is so thick it’s almost dark. The wind is howling and chattering, occasionally pushing us to stumble on too-sharp turns- there he is!

 

“Mr. Iceburg! Mr. Iceburg!” I shout.

“Who- nmaaa, why do you have that flag?” Mr. Iceburg says.

“I’m- I’m Mer- Mark, I’m Mark. I- my crew left to save one of our mates, and we got left behind, b-because we’re not- we’re not ready for fighting. But- we need to go help them, we need to go-” I babble.

“Kid, if they left you behind then-” he says.

“Yis our crewmates. We their crewmates. We go.” says Taffy.

“We’re not going to fight, Mr. Iceburg- we need to go get them. I don’t think- they didn’t take a boat there, did they? So- we have to go save them. Without us, they can’t come back.” says Bryony.

“Our crew is full of dumbs. We go save them because we smart.” says Taffy.

“We need a boat. You’re in charge of this city- so, so either you know a boat we can use, or you could maybe fix ours, or maybe-” I continue to babble.

“We can swim, but dumb crew yis not good swimmers. We need the boat. You has boat. Give us boat.” says Taffy.

“Um. I don’t want to steal a boat or anything, but- but they’re our Family, and, um. A-and if you don’t give us a boat o-or fix ours up a bit, we’ll be forced- I’ll take drastic measures, a-and I don’t think you want that.” says Bryony, shaking.

“Boat boat boat!” chants Taffy.

“Please, Mr. Iceburg-” I gasp.

 

Mr. Iceburg is laughing at us.

 

“Nmahahaha! Alright, alright.” says Mr. Iceburg.

“R-really? Really really?!?” I yelp.

“Yis!” Taffy yips.

“Oh thank goodness.” says Bryony.

“Come with me- your crew’s ship is docked on the far side of the city, we’ve got some time- I’ll fix it up for you three, and then I have to seek shelter. Aqua Laguna is almost here.” says Mr. Iceburg.

 

Mr. Iceburg leads us to a sort of- well, a strange kind of dock. When I see the boat that carried my crew to this island, I’m overcome by- urgh.

 

* * *

 

Dumb boat-them vomiting. Looking at your own corpse will do that.

Bryony put me on a crate, can’t walk on the vearth yet- gonna, gonna walk soon enough but not just yet- am holding Mark, waiting. Sword tied to belt just so. Dripping onto the crate.

Bryony lifts long dead-trees for Iceburg-man, presses sharp-tooth square shape knife into stump-end and cracks them one, two, three pieces; cracks the long pieces thinner thinner strips of woodbark jerky, bends them into shapes as Iceburg-man directs her, holds the boat together as Iceburg man beats metal teeth through strips of wood- one two three strips per side. He makes the boat-skin again, ties it down again, has Bryony cut the extra strips smaller; hand them up to him. The sound of metal teeth being driven through wood.

Bryony drips water onto the floor; her hoodie dark black blue and drip dripping from the sleeves from the hem from the hood over her head. She is not wearing shoes. I grip my arm tighter around Mark, press their shaking shoulders into my chest. My turn.

 

“Shh. Shh. It’s alright.” says I.

“It hurt so much to be a ship for them. I wanted to sail so **badly** but it hurt _so much_.” says Mark-them.

“H’you is not a ship now. H’you remember true, sure- but it’s done now, I think, maybe?” says I.

Mark-them does whimper; I hold them tighter, rub a hand against their belly.

 

“He hurt me. Tore my arms off and broke my fingers again and again; Captain hurt me, and- and I don’t know why. I don’t know _why.”_ says Mark-them.

“There is no reason to hurt that makes sense to the one being hurt.” says Bryony.

“H’you ever tell hyim h’you hurting?” says I.

“wh-Wut?” says Mark-them.

“Is like my mother tell me as kit- ‘Ai, that hurt!’ An then she smacking me with her claw-paw and I knew I had hurt her.” says I.

Bryony and Mark stare at me.

 

“If hyou is never saying to someone- ‘H’why you be hurting me?’- for Captain, at least, he didn’t know. How could he know? H’you never say! Things that be obvious to others be mystery to him! He is not- when we see them again, h’you go an’ ask hyim. H’you ask hyim ‘H’why you hurt me so like that?’ and if the answer please you, forgive hyim. An if it not, punish hyim.” says I.

“A-and if you’re scared to ask- I will ask for you, i-if you can’t.” says Bryony.

And Mark cries.

 

Iceburg-man finished his repairs, but- we’re not quiet. He heard us. He wiped his hands, pressed a clean rag wadded tight to his bleeding side. Rubbed the short whiskers on his muzzle, his jowl. Looked at the boat and at our friend and rubbed his face again. Shook his head.

 

“It’s not my business- but if you’re going to go… _settle things_ with your crew, the time to go is now.” says Iceburg-man.

 

Mark nods. Wipes their face. Stands, gestures to us with their head- time to go, time to go.

Bryony carries my wobbly body up the walk to the boat, lifts me to the ladder- and then I’m up so quickly I bound across the deck, quick step steps across around the smoothed deck, cracking apart under my feet. Can’t walk on dry land yet- but I was born on floating things, boat feel like home. Time us we go?

 

“We go yis?” says I.

“Yes.” says Bryony.

Mark says nothing at all. Mark only moves their head. Up, down.

 

Bryony pulls the boat’s anchor up up up, I climb the mast quick quick and ready to untie things and tie them back up again.

Iceburg-man opens the gate to the dock, and we spill out into the onrushing sea.

 

Up the tree down the tree. Untie the line, retie the line, up the tree down the tree pull the line move the branch. At my side, the sword sings- oh god it’s singing old folk songs. All it knows is folk songs. The voice of the sword is growing on me, but holy god how can there be so many rounds of a single song. Oh god it’s singing it again. No, this is a different song- [ have I heard this one before ](https://youtu.be/jxBKgOyMzSc)? This is a better one. I start singing along with the chorus. This starts a rolicking round of sea-shanty’s and old folk songs that don’t quite make sense but gosh I love them.

The water is black and the storm paints it white- black and white flashing flashing-


	15. The Falls

Across the horizon, a storm is raging; it roars in all directions, waves thrashing. On this island, the air is clear and burning with the light of a false-sun. A configuration of Lamp Dials held in suspension in a cumuloregalis burning white-sun colored- sheds light on a spillway guarded by a garrison. Robin picked up a rock and bashed the stupid man’s brains in, fell to her knees sobbing. I missed something- probably a speech from her. Probably exposition. Not important, if she wants to tell me, she can.

I come in hot, set down like a dragon- meaning I float the last few feet and slide to a very gentle stop. Robin is weeping. I kneel in front of her, dig in my pocket- I did, I put a handkerchief in my pocket, meant to give it to Sanji but-

Reach out and freeze, hands are shaking- she’s scared of me, what if I scare her worse what if I make it worse I always end up making it worse- no. No, she’s not alone, no one deserves to be alone. Touch my fingers to her bloodstained hands, hold the handkerchief in my other hand press a knuckle, two, soft soft beneath her chin. Rubberbands snap and clip me in the ear. Flinch.

Sting of ear, sting of eyes because it’s- bright. Tears run down face. Ignore other reasons why. Exchange handkerchief to other hand pull overts off tuck little hook through shirt open eyes again- Robin. Her face is splattered with blood. Speak. Speak. Say something-

 

“Handkerchief.” I show her my hand. Hold it under her mouth. “Spit.”

She spits into the hanky. I nod once, and start wiping the blood and the dust and the tears from her face. Small fading bruises; that dead bastard didn’t get hit enough. This side of the hanky is dirty, fold it over, wipe some more. Dirty again, unfold it and use the other side. Press the hanky to her nose, look at her. Confusion?

“Blow.”

She blows her nose. I scrunch one side, the other side, wipe her nose and mouth clean. Fold the last clean side over so all the dirt is inside and the clean bit is outside. Put it away. Look at her some more. Wipe tears from my eyes, I’m not angry- look at Robin.

“Can we talk now, or do you want to run some more?” I say.

She nods.

I nod. Close my mouth. Clench my jaw shut, my eyes shut. I don’t want to- I have to. Eat your crow, Mab. Deep breath. Sigh.

“When I was sixteen, my sister convinced me to rape my brother- I think, or maybe he raped me? A-and then through various schemes and machinations, convinced me to kill him as well, or- or I killed him because he raped me. I can’t remember which one is true but it doesn’t matter, because- Honor. Honor demanded my brother die, and Fratricide is what we called it- because, because Fae don’t shy away from what a thing really is, and even though my Honor demanded my brother’s head, he was still my brother. A-and after I started to show- I was pregnant, you see, and I suppose he must have raped me because why else would that baby have been inside of me... Aradia pushed me- had someone push me- down a flight of stairs- because at the time of my brother’s execution, which I carried out, he renounced his contribution to the child’s creation, making it wholly my child. And I- I couldn’t- I gave birth but I couldn’t-

“When I woke, from the fall, the doctors told me that my ability to bear children had not been compromised, but the child was unsalvageable- and all of it had been laid to rest. 

I had just turned seventeen. 

For the next year or so, I wholly threw myself into the running of the country- or I assume I did, I cannot remember that year clearly. It’s all- mist, in my mind. There is an ocean of horror and guilt inside of me, and that’s because I actually did things I regret, horrific things that I can’t undo, and I can’t take it back, and I cannot apologize because he’s dead, my brother is dead and so is my son and  _ I can’t fix it _ . That’s my job, you know- I fix things. 

-I can’t fix it.”

“Why- Why tell me this?”

“Because- because I can fix this. So, Robin- how old were  _ you _ when you inadvertently brought about the end of the world? Your world?”

“I- I was- eight. I was eight years old.”

I nod.

“Children are not to blame for the actions of adults; you were just a child. I was not- not in my reactions, anyway. -Robin, whatever happened- it’s not your fault.”

“...Y-you can’t be serious. You really don’t know what I did?”

“No, I don’t, and I don’t care. Whatever you did, it  _ cannot _ be worse than what I did.”

“...”

“Your guilt has been your companion for as long as you can remember- you were a burden, and then you were burdened; the man who shares my face made you feel weak and small and worthless.  _ You are not weak. You are not small. You are not worthless.  _ The worst thing you did was live when they told you to die- the world is always telling us to die, die, die, but we don’t. You didn’t. Neither did I.”

She swallows. I sigh.

 

“My sister shot me twice in the head when I wasn’t looking, told me all that she had done; the murder of our mother, the manipulation of her siblings, the murder of her brother with me as her cat’s paw, the murder of my child- and then she told me what she was going to do to me. And then she did it.”

“...” 

There’s a strange sort of understanding in her eyes, but I have to say it. I have to say it for myself.

 

“My sister cut my wings off and told me she’d keep them as a trophy of her victory over me, the betrayer. As if I was the one who- And then she told me to drown, and threw me in the sea. Fairisle is almost- not quite, but almost- ten kilometers above sea level. I fell all the way down.”

Robin’s crying again. So am I.

 

“...what happened Robin? It’s okay if you don’t tell me- it’s okay if you never speak to me again. But- what happened?”

“...Y-you look just like your… sire? Is that the word?”

“Sire is the Skuan word for the male progenitor that had no effect on the actual raising or care of the child; dam is the feminine, and dauna is the neutral term.” 

I wipe more tears away.

So does she.

 

“Thank you; your features are of startling similarity to your sire, and- when I w-was eight, I. I learned to read Poneglyphs, which is illegal on all the Blue Seas. Perhaps not Sky Blue, but-”

“Poneglyphs are a restricted technical language up Top- you would get odd looks for knowing it, but it’s not illegal to know.” 

“How can that be?”

“Well… Sky Blue does not and has never recognized the World Government’s sovereignty. Ever.”

Robin grins. It’s sad. 

 

“It’s illegal Down Here- has been for centuries. When the adults in my village found out I could read them… I. I had a friend, a Talfolk; a Giant man named Jaguar D. Saul. Saul told me that- that I would find friends, friends who would… Your sire killed him, and I saw it happen, and- and you look  _ just like  _ **_him_ ** **.** You  _ sound  _ just like  **him** .”

“...I’m so sorry, Robin. I wish- I wish I was more like my Mama. My Mama was very beautiful; her voice was sweet and her features refined. If I was more like her, maybe- maybe you wouldn’t be so scared of me. ...maybe Sanji would like me more...”

“Sanji likes you!”

“Sanji likes what I can  _ do _ for him- if I was prettier, quieter, less-  **awake** \- he’d like me more, I think.”

“No, he likes  _ you _ \- he likes the sex, of course- but it eases his mind that you can protect yourself, protect him if you had to- he, he trusts you. He’d let you cook in his kitchen, he’d let you use his  _ knives _ if you asked…”

“...you really think so?”

“Yes! Mab- I think he’s falling for you.”

“ **Falling for me?!?** No! No, no no-”

“Oh- oh my, no no- Mab, um, Down Here, falling for someone is a euphemism for ‘being in love.’ ”

“...oh. Up Top, we say ‘love is coming in bloom’ for- that. Being in love with someone... you grow into that, you don’t **_fall_ ** . -It’s called a euphemism? I- I didn’t know.”

 

We sit in front of each other for a long moment. And then we start laughing.

 

“We’re talking about all this heavy shit, a-hmhmhmhm- and all we end up talking about is- is-” I giggle.

“Like girls! Like girls on a friend-date! Dereshishi! Dereshishishi!” she howls.

 

We laugh for a long, breathless moment. When it’s over, Robin looks at me, smiles, and hooks her hands over my shoulders, pulls me close. Hugs me. I hug her back. When she unhooks her arms, I let her go. Which reminds me.

I reach into my other pocket, and pull out- a key. It’s got that slick, slimey feeling of something imbued with pyrobloin. I smirk at Robin. She raises an eyebrow, smirks back.

 

“Let’s see if we can’t get one of those off of you.”

“Oh yes. Let’s.”

 

There’s a pair of cuffs with five distinct key holes around her wrists, and a seastone choker around her neck. On a hunch, I try the choker first. It clicks open easily, and falls into my open hand with a soft, slick, sea-smelling slither. I take the key out, put the chain through the loop, click it shut. Wind it into a scrunch and shove it into my empty pocket on my hip.

Grin at Robin, who is breathing deeply, swallowing, breathing- grinning. Giggling.

 

“Chokers work for you, but that one really isn’t your style.”

“Hmm- I won’t say no to a consensual choking, but cold metal on my neck is not a look I like...”

 

And then we’re both cackling again. This is how the rest of the crew finds us- shouting at us across a gulf of a pair of roofs between giggles.

 

“ROBIN!!! ROOOOOOOOOBIIIIIIIIIIIIIIN! TELL ME YOURSELF WHAT YOU WAAAAAAAAANT!” shouts Captain Luffy.

“...whoops, forgot where we were. You ready to face everyone?”

“...Yeah. Help me up?”

“Of course!”

 

I hook my arm around her waist, lift her up. We carefully walk forward to the ledge. Robin shouts.

 

“I WANT TO LIVE! LUFFY, I WANT TO LIVE! -I’M SORRY FOR RUNNING AWAY! IF IT’S NOT TOO MUCH TROUBLE- IF IT’S NOT TOO MUCH TROUBLE, PLEASE TAKE ME TO SEA WITH YOU!”

“OF COURSE!” shouts Luffy.

“YOW! SEEING SUCH SISTERLY COMPANIONSHIP REALLY MOVES ME! MOVES ME TO TEARS, MAN!” shouts Franky from behind us.

 

Well, since everyone else is shouting, I might as well-  _ aaaaaah! Leopard! Nope nope nope- _

I grab Robin and Franky and - _ blink _ \- slide to a stop behind my crew, fucking- goddamn shitty leopard men. I know what to shout.

 

“LUFFY FINISH YOUR GODDAMN SHITTING HELLFIGHT ALREADY LEAVE YOUR KEY AND GO WE’VE GOT THIS-”

“SORRY MAB!”

 

His key chimes when it hits the roof- I scoop it up, tap each crew member for their key and come up with something like eight from them; and then Franky has an additional five in his hand. Okay.

 

“Okay, Franky- hold these.” 

 

I line the keys up neatly on his palm. I make him hold out his other hand. I start checking each key, neatly placing the keys that don’t work in one side into his other hand because I’ve got a nasty feeling about this goddamn cuff system-  _ click two three four five _ \- use the working keys on the other one, nope, check the order, nope, check the discards- aha, gotcha.  _ Click two three four five _ \- and then Robin’s free. I take the slimy pyrobloin chain from my pocket, unlock the choker chain and string the seastone keys and cuffs onto the chain, lock it again. Twist the key that unlocks the choker in the chain and lock it back spin it all back into a coiled lump and shove it back into my pocket. (Working with pyrobloin imbued stuff is actually pretty simple; even if you have a Devil Fate, there are ways around such things.)

 

Behind me, a building crashes to the ground with a resounding rumble. Cannon balls are hurtling through the air with a sort of furious rapacity. Robin is scared.

I take her by the shoulders.

 

“ **Robin, you look at me right now.** ”

“M-mab-”

“We’re not going to die. Luffy’s going to win this fight, Chopper’s found a boat for us-”

“No, I didn’t, sorry-”

“Franky can build a boat for us-?”

“Um. Sorry Fae-sis but, no.”

“Son of a shitlicker, well- we could steal one-?”

“They sink every ship that tries to escape.” whimpered Robin.

“Oh. Well. Motherfucker.” I hiss.

 

* * *

 

On the horizon hovers a glowing point that we make for- like a lighthouse in the storm. Ringed with glowing white ships, blazing in the false sunlight; levelling volley after volley of cannonballs at that ever lit island. Our approach is heralded by Taffy’s lusty caterwauling- she’s singing something about…  [ a wake ](https://youtu.be/EfJuGiDsoVA?t=43s) ? At one point, the flag snapped off of the mast- so Taffy took Mark’s cape and tied it fast, and we sailed on. (Mark made a spectacular leap and caught the falling flag- and then kicked off the air and landed back on the deck. They've left the flag with me in the darkened galley; I'm the strongest, so I'm carefully maneuvering the whipstaff into place.)

 

We soon come astride the island. I can just barely feel-  _ ouna _ Mab? Well- I’m the only one here who can actually hit the right level of sound.

 

“Cover your ears friends, I’m calling them in.” I say.

“Oh boy.” they say, clamping their hands over their ears.

Deep breath in. Shout.

 

“ **IF YOU COCKSUCKING SHITSTEALING FART LICKING SONS OF BITCH-JACKALS DON’T GET YOUR SKINNY BITCH ASSES ON THIS SHIP WITHIN THE NEXT,** ” Merry holds up a three- “ **THREE HELLSHITTING FUCKDAMN MINUTES I WILL FIND A FUCKING SHITCUNT WAY TO GO TO THE PURE WORLD AND FUCK ALL YOUR SNOT VOMITING ASSHOLES UP DON’T FUCKING TEST ME GET THE FUCK OVER HERE RIGHT THE FUCK NOW.** ”

 

I shout all of this in  _ ouna _ Mab’s voice- not the actual voice, but the cadence and the timbre and the quality... It pierces directly through everything going on around us, bounces off the walls, and just- reverberates. There is a small, but distinct pause. Somewhere in the distance, a large building shatters into pieces; our Captain shouts in triumph.

 

“ **SHELLYBELLY IS THAT YOU?** ”

“ **WHAT OTHER TRICKY BITCH DO YOU KNOW THAT CAN FUCKING YELL THIS CUNTING LOUDLY?** ”

“ **SHIT SHELLYBELLY I WAS HOPING IT WAS YOU! BE RIGHT THERE, I HAVE TO GRAB OUR LAST DUMBASS AND THEN WE CAN GO!** ”

“ **HURRY IT THE FUCKHELL UP THEY’RE HELLSHITTING SHOOTING AT US AGAIN THERE’S ONLY SO MANY TIMES I CAN PUNCH THE CANNONBALLS OUT BEFORE I MISS ONE!** ”

“ **YOU’RE DOING A GREAT JOB SHELLYBELLY I’M SO HELLFUCKING PROUD OF YOU-** ”

“ **R-REALLY?** ”

“ **FUCK YEAH SHELLYBELLY- OH LOOK AT YOU YOU’RE GORGEOUS!** ALL OF YOU ARE JUST DARLING!”

“ _ O-ouna _ Mab!”

“Babies!”

 

And then we’re all glommed onto our  _ ouna _ , who is laughing and hugging back as hard as she can. It’s a good moment. 

Fucking Bluebeaks ruin it like they ruin everything, goddamn salt-jizz caked fuckboys- we break apart like chunks of seafoam, scatter across the deck- I move with purpose back to the whipstaff, prepare for orders.

Nami shouts and the world shudders as we shift and wiggle over wave after wave of ocean; Zoro takes the whipstaff from me, like I don’t know what to do- I know what to do, but- thaaat’s a cannonball.

 

I run out on deck, carefully dance around each member of my crew leap onto the rail and where where there- gently push off the deck, arc my body like  _ this _ , move my hips like  _ that- _

I’m tired of them shooting at us so this time instead of smacking it down, I’m throwing it back- so I grab one with one hand, another with the other, and then I- I- “ **Return to Sender!** ” 

Somewhere in front of me a ship bursts into pieces. I kick the air and hell, undershot- slam my gut into the rail of the ship and huff out a breath instead of breaking more of this poor raft, clamp my arms over and launch myself back onto the deck.

Tuck and roll to my feet there’s another round coming from the other side launch again- and that’s what I end up doing for the duration of our escape. When we manage to get away, I take a deep, flat footed squat and just- wheeze. Taffy’s laid out on her gut, heaving, just soaked with sweat; Merry is kneeling between us both, gasping for breath.

Oh god I’m so glad I don’t wear shoes.

 

* * *

 

I’m so, so proud of our crew babies; if I get any prouder, my chest is going to break open and my heart my lungs my viscera is going to expand and fly away in a cloud of blood-drenched joy.

So, so proud of our babies.

 

The three newest members of our crew are thus-

 

A pale femme, long limbed, narrow sharp features; narrow eyes, a beauty mark in black dotted under her left eye; big yellow eyes with a ring of black bisecting the colored iris, hair- short fuzzy, black and white striped high waisted pants, white shirt buttoned all the way up- that’s one of Sanji’s- tucked into her pants, oiled suitjacket- no, waxed- two toned shoes, I made them for her.  [ Nasal voice ](https://youtu.be/YadrmuebdGg) , likes to sing. Oh, oh she’s lovely. Taffeta- Taffyscarf- oh she’s just darling.

Olive skin on a big frame; soft and pudgy looking but they’re all muscle; soft blue hoodie with brown lining, blue underwear under a nearly see-through white skirt- ah, okay, got it- and no shoes? Well, why would they wear shoes, they’ve never worn shoes before. Blank white hair that flashes with color in time to their voice- soft voice, gentle. Radiant, delicate features- small, flattened nose, sad wide mouth, big blue eyes. Gorgeous.

Beautiful- wavy locks of auburn hair tucked into a newsboy cap, white shirt- Sanji’s shirt- buttoned most of the way up, red skinshirt showing through- I made that for her- those pants are Robin’s, sandals I made for her. Golden-brown ivory skin, eyes of coal black, wide mouth and my own aquiline nose sharp and long on her face. Oh god they’re beautiful.

 

My face is aching. I can’t stop smiling. I gracefully flop into a kneel in front of the three; if I had more energy, I’d be quivering in excitement. I don’t. I’m tired. But oh god I want to know-

 

“ _ O-ouna _ Mab?” says the red-head.

“Yes my darling?” I say.

“M-my name- my name is Mark. I- I know you named me Merry Reed, but- but my name is Mark.” says Mark.

“Merry  **Mark** Reed?” I say.

“ **Mark** Merry Reed.” they say.

“So- should I refer to you as male, female, neutral…?”

“Um. Male, right now. ...you’re really okay with it?”

“Of course! I can’t tell you who you are, darling.”

“Oh.”

 

Mark’s face is a mixture between deep, bone shaking relief, and intense concentration. He glanced at Captain, then me, then away- yellow-eyes has rolled to their back, sat up, legs folded under them and turned-

 

“Dracule Taffeta is me. Call me Taffy. Yis.” they say. “I yis girl, yis. ...Does Mark need more hugs?”

 

Mark nods.

Taffy hugs them.

Shellybelly speaks up while Taffy hugs Mark.

“I am Monkey D. Bryony Lovelace, also female. Mark, do you need me to-?” she says.

 

Mark shakes his head. He's- crying? Why is Mark-  **oh.** Oh dear. Oh boy.

  
  


Bryony turns to face Captain fully, soft-looking body in a perfect seiza position. Her bobbed hair falls in a perfect straight wave down. Her eyes are glistening and shadowed, piercing shark eyes from the darkness beneath her bangs. Big, black, empty- her face is like soft olive stone, cold and unmoving.

Taffy is also sitting, but with her legs folded to the side one arm slung carefully around Mark’s waist. The other hand is bracing carefully against the deck, pale fingers tipped with black shining nails- oh boy.

Mark composes himself.

 

“Captain Luffy. When I was called  _ Going Merry _ , you made the promise as Captain of the ship to care for your crew- and that eventually included me. In the course of your care, my limbs were broken, my spine was cracked, my fingers torn apart- all this, done for you. Some of it, done by you. So then, in the future- please, please don’t do that again. Please don’t tear my limbs off. Please don’t break my spine.” Mark seems so- small.

Captain looks so confused.

Zoro is braced.

No one says anything- then Captain says something stupid, which means I say something… kind.

 

“Neh, who are you?” he says.

“Captain, Mark Merry Reed is what remains of  _ Going Merry _ .”

“But- aren’t we on  _ Going Merry?” _

And everyone says flatly “No.”

And I say “Does it  **_feel_ ** like we’re on  _ Going Merry?” _

“...No. It doesn’t feel like  _ Merry _ at all- it's... empty. But- I never hurt them, did I?”

“But you did.” I say. “I know you did, I saw you tear their arms and legs off and jam them in the blowhole of a whale. If it needed to be done, then it needed to be done- but please, in the future, try to be kinder to your crewmates. Our trust in you, Captain, is absolute.”

 

And Captain Luffy stares. I can see it in his black eyes, so often crinkled with mirth- a creeping horror, a bubbling realization that  _ oh yes, I have done this awful thing _ .

 

Mark is still crying and shaking.

 

Oh gosh I’m tired.

I’m just gonna-

And then I passed out.

Fuckin’ Narcolepsy.

 

* * *

 

Earlier, when I said “there’s always something wrong with a changeling”, I misspoke. What I meant to say was, every changeling ever born has some… some _malmodo_ , something weird about them. For example, Zoro- who is a changeling- has green hair and a sense of direction so profoundly attuned to the true poles of the planet, he can’t actually navigate. At all. He is hard permabanned from steering the ship. Ever. 

Similarly, Mark’s soul is mismatched to his body- one of the God’s little jokes, I suppose.

Taffy… sociopathic is a very strong word. But the fact of the matter is, she doesn’t have human instincts, she has… she has fox and centipede instincts. She might grow into her humanity. And she might not- we'll see what she considers funny.

And Bryony has super-strength. She has super-strength and no real control of it.

Ah well.

The only easy day was yesterday.

 

* * *

 

I awake in the usual way- cradled in Sanji’s arms. He’s carrying me like a bride up a dock near the black sand beach we made port in a few days ago. Has it really only been a few days? We’re all together; Luffy, shoulders low, hat shading the whole of his face. Zoro, jaw clenched on words he dare not speak for fear of overspeaking- one of his swords is hanging empty. Oh  _ no _ . That must have been the metal that screamed- oh,  **_Zoro._ ** Nami, gently holding the hand of Usopp, who looks like he desperately wants to comfort Mark. Mark themselves, held by Taffy around the waist and supported by Bryony at the back. Robin, with the most mournful eyes- Chopper standing still and carefully bandaging her leg? She was injured in her leg? And- Franky. Blue hair, top heavy, tattooed, awful shirt and speedo combination- he looks confused but also respectful- oh.  _ Oh. _

The boat that saved us- who once was  _ Going Merry _ , who carried us so far, such valiance and determination, such self-sacrifice- that boat is gone. And what remains is crumbling before our very eyes. This time, I don’t have the strength to do anything at all- and this time, I don’t have to.

 

“Merry, I’m sorry.” says Luffy in a thick voice. “I… I didn’t think of you as I should have, and for that you paid the price. I’m so sorry.”

 

Luffy’s holding a bottle with a rag in it, and in the other hand- Sanji’s lighter, oh, oh- this is how funerals for beloved ships go. This is how we treat the dead- with kindness.

Luffy lights the rag, takes aim, and throws the firebomb. Clicks the lighter shut. The bomb arcs high, orange fire streaming- and smashes into the deck through which light is shining, blazing flames devouring bubbling tar and dusty wood, licking up sails and rigging and over the figurehead. Chunks of the ship creak and break off, boiling the sea with tarry black smoke rising, rising; the figurehead in the flames weeps bitter-black tears before crumbling to nothing but flames. And ashes. The flames devour it all- crows’ nest to keel.

In the end, only a softly weeping Mark remains. I’m tired again.

I curl in close to Sanji and try my best to cope. I shake in his arms- the world fades away to the steady rocking of his gait and my own shivering tears. Tired. Tired and sad.

  
  


We go back to the hotel, covered in soot and dried egg slime and blood- not all of us at once, but enough of us have the various bits to be grateful for a chance to bathe. Franky wandered off I guess? I don’t know.

I can’t actually stand on my own two feet. I’m exhausted. Blood and sweat are caked to me in layers so thick I can’t actually see my skin beneath them- just rumpled patches of, of hide made out of my blood and her blood and so much blood get it off, get it off get it off  _ get it off get it off get it off _ -

 

“Shh. Please- Mab, please put yourself in my care.”

“I- I- I- O-okay. Please take care of me, Sanji.”

 

My shirt isn’t salvageable, blood fusing the knots into one whole piece of- blood leather- so Sanji cuts it off with his pocket knife. It peels away from my skin with a sticky ache. I throw the ruined handkerchief after the shirt, drop the seastone chain of seastone keys onto the shelf above the sink. Sanji takes my glasses, helps me unlace my pants, unbutton my boots and slide out of all that leather. Sits me down on the closed toilet and starts the shower, runs warm water over my numb flesh.

 

Lather, rinse.

Lather, rinse.

Lather, rinse.

Lather, rinse.

Lather, rinse.

Lather, rinse.

Lather, rinse.

 

Sets the shower in it’s hook and scrubs my hair. Fingers under my chin and close my eyes. Rinse.

 

Lather, rinse.

Lather, rinse.

Lather, rinse.

Lather, rinse.

Lather, rinse.

Lather, rinse.

Lather, rinse.

 

Pulls off my underwear and washes me lower.

 

“If you do that, I’ll pass out.”

“Sorry.”

 

Rinses and washes me until the water runs clear down the drain. Conditions my hair and my skin like I do every time- coconut oil, one to ten ratio dilution of lavender oil; rubs it into my hair, my face, my skin, my back- ghosts his fingers over my aching wings. Everything hurts but his hands feel so good. He puts my buglace away and does not flinch from their grasping legs; he stretches my wings out and does not shudder at their gleam. Rubs me down with a towel so I shiver faintly in the warm mist.

Slips a- oh, oh, it’s a halter top nightgown, oh, dotted fabric print and ribbon tape ties, cotton voile, oh. I didn’t make this. I didn’t make this- he… he got it for me? Oh, it’s lovely. Soft and just warm enough, it’s perfect. He ties it around my neck just so- remembers to use a square knot. Oh.

Lays me in our bed- returns to the shower? Well, he needs to bathe too.

Returns in- loose tank top shirt of voile, loose pants, long striped voile pants- it’s a set, it’s a his and hers set, all in soft blue and clean white; turns out the bathroom light, climbs into bed with me. Tucks his legs under the hotel covers- tucks mine under the covers. Wraps an arm around me, pulls the blankets over us, turns out the lamp.

Late sunset paints the room a fading, burnished gold. I close my eyes, and sleep.

 

 

When I wake again, it’s to the pale grey light before false dawn. Sanji’s chest is at my back, his hands resting on my body, his arms around me. He holds me closely, my wings pressed flat to his chest, his heart thrumming a soft beat into me,  _ ba-bump ba-bump ba-bump ba-bump ba-bump ba-bump ba-bump _ . His body is- his body is so  _ hot _ , it feels so good. But it also gets a little stifling- but I. I like it. I like being wrapped in him. In the cage of my chest there is a seed, sprouting; slim vines spooling out and winding up my bones.

I tug my arms out from where they’ve sprawled, tug the hand resting on my breast to my face. Examine it carefully. Sanji’s hands are unmistakeable; his fingertips are flattened and ironed by the touch of hot metal pans; the side of his forefinger is mildly corrugated from peeling vegetables and when the sharp knife slipped- the ball of his thumb- that fleshy, meaty portion delicately ploughed with cuts across the skin but not deep into the flesh. There’s a very heavy callus at the base of his forefinger, where the base of his knives presses into his hand when he works- each chop makes the knife bounce against his skin leaving it- thick, rough, almost hard to the touch. There is a tiny scar on his thumb; slightly discolored spots where he burnt himself with grease or metal or- I press our palms together; our hands are nearly the same size, but his are slightly- wider? The fingers are larger, the joints not so pronounced. My calluses lie across my ring, middle, and forefinger; our nails are short, but mine are a bit longer- his are uniformly square and short and flat, while mine are slightly longer, more almond shaped and a bit curved even. The hair on his knuckles is abbreviated, but dark. Mine is wispy- still dark, but very thin. My fingertips are slightly numb to the heat of his body- too much steam from the clothes iron. There’s a burn scar from- a glue gun, on my index finger. I’m- there’s soft, deep leaves unfurling, ghosting through my throat, up my face like a flush, blossoms pouring in petal soft drops from my eyes.

I press a kiss to the sleep-softened palm of my husband.

He, of course, woke as soon as I touched his hand- but curiously, he didn’t move until I pressed my lips against his hands, against his fingers, against knuckles, calluses, scars from knife and heat- he pressed the hand that was not in mine against my womb, rubbed thumb to skin through fabric. When I started overflowing, he pressed sweet kisses to my neck, my shoulder- rubbed my wings with his chest and I sighed. Pressed his hips to my ass, lightly bit my ear to hear me whimper with pleasure; tugs the tape of my nightgown loose. Tugs my bodice to my hips; ghosts his hand across my breast, massages them. 

Such a pervert. 

I lace my fingers with his; same hand, palm to palm thumb to thumb and fingers to fingers- we move together languidly, our hands intertwined.

 

I’m close enough to see Sanji’s eyes blown wide with excitement; but then it- softens? He presses a sweet chaste kiss to my mouth, my cheeks, my teary eyes- braces his hips against mine, lets go of my hand to peel away his sleep shirt. Presses his hairy chest to my smoother, softer one.

Sanji’s body hair has a very distinctive whorl pattern, and if it’s not in that whorl it bristles like a boar’s and scratches unmercifully. I like it. I like it because it’s his and I don’t have hair like that. He laces our fingers back together, kisses me harder.

The world fades away to hot hot hot- but slow and soft and sighing. Wind through leaves, the soft touch of burning hands to cooler flesh. Sap flowing in sweet-sour wet runs. And- melting. I'm turning into flowers and  [ melting ](https://youtu.be/TeX8Ah1eSt8) all over him.

 

And when we draw apart, naked and tangled in sheets and each other, the world is bright. His hair is it’s normal platinum gold; his eyes are the sapphire of the sea. Soon we’ll have to get up and face the day- but… not yet.

I take his hands in mine again, and press soft kisses to them. He smiles so sweetly, his eyes watering. I close my eyes- I don’t want to see what he looks like when I speak. I have to say it. But I don’t want to  _ see _ it.

 

“I think… I think I’m growing in love with you. I think I’m in love with you, Sanji. -Inside of me, there is a love that has grown- and were I to excise it, I would surely tear my heart from my chest as well. You’ve come to have a power over me, the power to utterly ruin me- to tear me to bloody pieces with a word, a gesture. I doubt sincerely you ever would- but I could not in good conscience continue without informing you of my feelings. I don’t- I don’t know if I’ve said this before to you, I- my memory is very bad, and I don’t remember things- not just little things, but important things too.”

 

Tears leak from my eyes. Say it. Say it. Mab, say it now.

 

“...it well may be that I never gain such a power over you. My feelings may be wholly one sided- such a thing is out of my grasp to affect, for or against. But- even if I don’t remember telling you this, even… even if-”

Tears leak from my eyes. There’s more I could say, but my throat is closed by clinging vines, my jaw wired shut by pure, unrelenting  **_sentiment._ ** Embarrassing- that I need say such-

 

“I think I fell for you a little bit when you made quilts for us all, when we were getting close to Sakura Kingdom. But when I look to see if that’s where it started- I remember, no, it must have been when you gave your emergency food rations to me and told me to cook for the crew- but no, no, it was when we were just children writing letters to each other. That’s when I fell in love with you, surely- but no, no, no- it’s now. It’s now, and then, and every moment between. That’s when I knew I was in love with you. You speak of power? Mab, you have to power to gut me where I stand with a single glance.”

 

My eyes snap wide, fix on his face. He’s completely sincere. He means every word. Oh. Oh, oh oh. When we come together this time, it’s sweeter and hotter and more languid, like summer rain; he presses me to completion and I melt in his arms again. Yes, I mean those words exactly- sex is sex, and lovemaking is not just sex. Things get complicated when feelings are involved.

 

We stagger into the bathroom together around the usual time. Sanji washes my back; I wash his hair. We dress as we usually do- him in his steadily less well fitting suit; me in my normal day clothes.

Nami rented for us- basically a multiple family apartment. Sanji and I got a single bed with an attached bathroom. Out our door there’s a hallway- our room sits in the corner of the building. One door, Zoro and Chopper; two door, Luffy and Usopp; three door, Nami and Robin; door four leads to the rest of the hotel, coat hooks, end tables, a door that locks. Through the open door I go, followed by Sanji- and there curled up together on the couch by the balcony, Mark, Taffy, and Bryony.

It’s five in the morning. The sun is not going to rise until about seven.

I’m not sure how much Sanji would realize about the kids; follow him into the kitchen. 

Work the problem, Mab.

  
  


“Easiest first- both parts of Taffy’s progeneration were obligate carnivores. I’d have to check her mouth, but just from listening to her speak, she’s got at least one extra set of  [ canines ](https://gyazo.com/0aa4ced04bf2d80af6541b34e11fb960) \- she’ll be most comfortable eating meat, of course, but she’s not an obligate carnivore anymore, she’s an omnivore. She’ll have to be introduced to the flavor profiles of cooked meat, first- then tempeh, tofu, seitan and so on could be snuck into the meal. Mushrooms could add that meat flavor that’s so comforting to her without actually being meat- high source of vitamin D, high source of protein. What else- jackfruit, eggplant, lentils, beans and legumes- there’s more but they steadily become less and less meat-like. Serving guidelines- she won’t appreciate separated foods, i.e. salads, mono-crops, etcetera, for a while, and she won’t eat root vegetables without some provocation… probably. She’s going to have a fascination for cooked food, and she’ll probably be a floor-food person.”

Sanji makes a sort of choked whining noise.

“I agree, but- some things you have to learn on your own. However, one thing that’s going to be ingrained in her is water location. She’s not going to drink very much of anything if it’s served right next to her food. Cloudfoxes are primarily scavengers, and scavengers don’t drink water near their food supply- it’s been contaminated. So. It’ll need to be about a meter or so away from her food. -That’s Taffy.”

“Ok. What about… Bryony?”

“Bryony is like me when I was young- vegan. However, for her, it’s alright to put food and drink next to each other- but you absolutely must not let her choose her own portions just yet, she’ll overeat. She’s not like Nami, she’s like me- we both tend to clean our plates. She’s also used to very set meal times, and it’ll be interesting to see how long it takes her to realize what being hungry feels like. You’ll have to very carefully introduce meat products to her- start off with broth, heavily processed products of meat. Lighter meat-like things, mushrooms and so on, lighter meats- fish, and such- and then if she shows no discomfort,  _ then _ move her up to meat. Pineapple, she’s going to need pineapple if she’s eating meat at first.”

“Oh, to break down the proteins.”

“Right. Lastly- Mark. They’re going to be interesting, because they’ve never eaten food before.”

“Oh. Oh  _ shit _ .”

“Yeah. Feed for starvation maybe? That same kind of menu- broths, easily spooned up dishes. Eventually they’ll be able to eat regular food, but… for now, maybe oatmeal or some kind of grain porridge? Eventually, curry- curry's going to be their favorite but I can't yet say why.”

“Hm. Rice porridge.”

“Ooh. That sounds tasty.”

“Heh- wait, you like rice porridge?”

“Oh- yes, it’s one of my favorite comfort foods.”

 

And Sanji smiles at me, and to himself, and the first bowl of porridge is for me. Oh my. It tastes like kissing him, the feeling- it tastes like the feeling of… when I melted together with him. Oh my.  **_Sentiment._ **

  
  
  


Breakfast is at nine, as usual, and everyone is there- all our crewmates. The Kids are a sleepy, tired row of confused examinations of food. Taffy is actually devouring her food with gusto, and has sunk her very sharp teeth into Luffy’s hands at least twice now. Taffy has eight brutally sharp canines; top row, where the two outer incisors would normally be, are replaced by a slightly larger set of canines, and her regular canines are really oversized, more fangs than anything else. Bottom row has four regular incisors and again, two canines- but instead of replacing one of her premolars, the teeth just… doubled. Bigger than a normal canine, and much sharper- but not true fangs. ...Perhaps she won’t get as many true molars?

Luffy’s arm is bleeding. He’s not trying to steal food from Taffy anymore. Oh boy.

We’re all still pretty worn out, but Usopp musters up enough energy to ask me about the Trick.

 

“Mab?” says Usopp.

“Mmrph?” I say.

“Um- why did you… what, exactly, did you do with that Wet Dial and the paint?”

“Mmph! Oh, right- you’ll probably like this- so, ah, Ceville- that’s her name, Bitter Orange is just a… just a mask, really. Ceville is actually a Cherumib- but as part of her cover, she presented herself as a Fairy. She’s got all the training to make that work- but she’s a Cherumib.”

“Okay...”

“Okay, so, ah- every tribe in Sky Blue has their own specific… way to use time? I can’t really explain the hows of it, but- the short hand for what each tribe does is Djinn transform, Sirens believe, Cherumib remember, and Fairies trick.”

“So… what was the trick?”

“Quick anatomy lesson- each tribe of Sky-folk has these… sort of sacs? In our backs, right by the spine; when the weather conditions Up High are really bad, we can physically retract our wings. There’s a specific nerve pinch you can do to make them crumple up into the sac- it’s pretty simple to do, but requires a bit of practice to do at high speed. Oh, yeah, and you need a better wallet.”

“Wait- hey! How did you get my… my wallet… that’s not my wallet.”

“No?”

“No, mine’s in my pocket.”

“Oh, right- my mistake,” I say. I unfold the cloth napkin, drop his goggles into my lap, and set the napkin to the side. Gesturing gracefully with your hands sure does allow a lot of opportunity. “So, anyway, basically what I did was a bit of misdirection- I’m not terribly good at the larger stage style of Fairy Tricks, but I learned all the basic principles. Once you know the first principles of a technique and gain skill, it’s not a hard jump to make for the more complicated tricks.”

 

Nami is staring at me with shining eyes.

“How did you do that?” she says.

“Do what?” I say.

“-Hey, where are my goggles?!?” says Usopp.

I hand Usopp his goggles. He stares at them, stares at me, then blinks. 

Now he gets it.

 

“So… Ceville isn’t dead.” he says.

“Of course she is, because if she wasn’t she’d have to explain to her boss why she disobeyed direct orders and destroyed the Pluton plans. Anyway, I guess- I guess we need a new boat now, so… Um, but I’m not sure what exactly everyone wants on it? I was going to take the rest of today easy, go shopping maybe, look around- I didn’t get to see the sights the other day, and. Um, when I get back, we can make a list of things we absolutely must have and really want on the new ship. Anyway, that’s my plan for the day.” I say.

“May I come with you, Mab?” says Robin.

“Oh, sure Robin- oh, Zoro, I noticed… Um. Do you need a shroud for Yubashiri?” I say.

“...yeah. Um, if you don’t mind I’ll go with you today.” says Zoro with a certain- thickness, in his throat. Sanji makes to tease him, considers what Zoro must have heard yesterday, and then shuts his mouth again. Good, I’d have hated to kick him.

 

“I’ve no problem with that- Robin?”

“Certainly. The more the merrier.”

“Cool. Hmmm- Chopper, please give Mark, Taffy, and Bryony check ups. I don’t think any of them have anything wrong in particular, but it wouldn’t hurt to check and get some kind of baseline going.”

“Will do.” says Chopper.

“Bryony, talk to Nami about our telecommunications. And also about taking her skirt-”

“-and one of my swimsuits!” barks Nami.

“Oh, um. Yes, yes of course.” says Bryony.

“Taffy, hang out with Sanji-love.”

“Yis?” 

“Sanji-love, see if you can figure out what’s going on with her legs.”

“Gotcha, Mab-love.”

“Captain. Usopp.”

“Mab?” “Uh.”

“You two and Mark need to talk to each other. My suggestion is to use today to do so.”

Mark slowly and carefully eats his porridge.

Captain looks at me. I Look at him.

 

“...If I sing a song about it, will you talk to each other then?”

Mark stops eating, swallows, and speaks.

 

“...There's a song for stuff like this?”

“Darling Mark, there’s a song for  _ everything _ .”

“So- what, there’s a song for burritos even?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah, right.”

 

I sigh.

 

“So. I’m not the musician of this crew; Captain, you need someone who will say 'yes' with joy in their hearts when you ask for music. That's not me. With that said, I’m going to sing  [ the burrito song ](https://youtu.be/r2J5GD6Z-4g?t=5s) first, and then I’m going to sing the song about talking to each other. And then I’m going to wait in the lobby of this hotel for Robin and Zoro. Oh, Zoro- the shroud for Yubashiri is in that crate, right by the couch.”

“Okay.”

“Right.”

 

And then I sing the song about burrito sunshine. I wrote it with Sanji as a child in letters back and forth, years and years ago. He remembers it.  _ And he sings with me. _ So that was… cute as fuck, oh, oh my god.  **_Sentiment!_ **

And then I sing the other  [ one ](https://youtu.be/vhAkNvdGwPQ) .

 

~ _ You’ve got a lot in common, you really do- _

_ Because you loved her and she loved all of you  _ ~

 

And then I walk out of the dining room. Grab my boots- oh dear, they’re caked with... Ugh. Oh  _ ew _ . 

I- I don’t know how to fix this. Hm. Cordwainer?

-And I already told them upstairs how to fix  _ that-  _ we'll see if they manage it.

I think they will; none of them are stupid people.

Ah, to be young again and feel love's keen sting... -wait, I'm twenty, I'm still young. Pull yourself together, Mab!


	16. The First Revelation: Clover and Booze

Today I’m wearing my loose overalls, underwear, of course, and a dark brown shirt- short sleeves, lace back, open shoulders. I’ve got a sketchbook, a pencil, and my billfold of money and coin-purse in the front pocket of my overalls. -I only have two pairs of shoes. I’ll have to fix that.

I take the time while I wait to consider [ what the Kids were wearing when they came to rescue us ](https://gyazo.com/20afc08ed863082adb1d813c1019150c). Consider what their style choices are, what should I perhaps make for them…

Hm…

 

Well, start simply. Taffy needs a better jacket, her white shirt needs to be fitted, cufflinks? If she’s going to wear a tuxedo jacket, she needs different pants- not jeans all that often, for that style. She can still have a good pair, of course. Socks, over socks… leg warmers? I’ll see what Sanji has to say. Taffy’s got a lot of Fae blood, but she’s not a straight tribal member- she’s not a cherubim unless she does the dances and Taffy… might do the dances. I doubt it, though. -maybe three quarters of her is Fae, and the rest is of the Lanfolk, of Men. As I recall, the blood of land and sea-folk overpower the traits of sky-folk nine times out of ten; considering what I know about Taffy’s character… playful, sweet, loves a good joke, honest, sneaky, graceful, fierce. _Oh_. Oh, she’s a Fable, okay.

Three fourths of her makeup actually came from me, then- I’m not sure where her coloring came from, but lanfolk _are_ very closely related. Maybe it's the Clown Dream?

Better shoes, the ones I made for her are really just stiff soled slippers, she needs _real shoes_.

Full suit? Perhaps.

 

Next up- Bryony. She looks- young. Big eyes sat low on her face, rounded cheeks, chubby-curvy- she’s either a Siren or a Selkie. Considering her eyes, she’s got a little sea-blood in her- so, nominally a Selkie, but she could be called a Siren. Sirin? Ow- Siren is a catchall term- they’re really a few different distinct nations that happen to share a specific style of dress, not… Hmm. So a vast selection of specialty feathers- everything from accusatory peacock eye-feathers to spotted woodpecker warning signs. Her shoulders are very, very squared- so she could wear a cape if she so desires. [ A true feathered cape? ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/df/00/19/df0019412dbf4f91ec0e6bd548ba91f3.jpg) If she wants one, I’ll make her one, I’ll even go so far as bronzing the feathers… but god that would be fun to make, though. Shit. I kinda want to make one just because. Hmm. If she’s going to wear swimsuits as everyday wear, she’s going to wear her own swimsuits. Mesh top?

Oh, there it is.

Sirin is the term for a- Syreene, that’s the name of the cultural group, okay. Syreenes are heralds of joy, said to reside somewhere in Paradise. At least, for the worthy their songs are heralds of joy- for those with distorted souls, their songs are so intoxicating that the listener will follow them anywhere and ultimately die. Generally heralded by owl feathers and poetry. Most people out in the world will never, ever meet a Sirin- it’s not an appellation you can just claim; it’s a title, generally military in nature. Any syreene that joins a part of the Sky Blue Air Defence Force would be automatically referred to as a Sirin. Alkonosts are seafarers, fisherwomen; humbler than their other kin. They’re also known for being able to call storms. The counterpart of the Sirin; when people say they met a siren, who they actually met is usually an Alkonost. Any syreene can be an alkonost- it’s a lifestyle and a branch of weathercalling, not a title like Sirin is. Finally, Gamayun- prophetic symbols of wisdom and knowledge, scholars, mages, and chiefs. They don’t leave Shipwreck Cove. Shipwreck Cove- ow, ow ow ow, ow. Okay. Okay.

 

-And Mark is a Djinni. They’re the only tribe I can think of with that particular body shape combined with those features- he’s almost _shockingly_ beautiful. Softly wavy hair, that green tint to his skin- Bryony has it too, but it’s _pronounced_ in Mark. Because Mark isn’t grown yet, he’s- there’s a color scheme. There’s a color growth? Red is lowest, or, rather- the colors are circular? OW. ow ow ow. Okay. ow. Alright. Um, loose pants- usually some kind of sandal or boot if they deign to wear shoes at all. Sashes, vests, loose soft fine fabrics- and long hair. Mark is actually almost pure Djinni, I can tell because of the ears- of all the tribes, Djinni are the ones who have such pointy ears. And the jewelry- brass, I suppose, and I can actually add beautiful patterns if they like. He. Mark is a he, don’t misgender him.

  
  


This is a nice hotel- it has an entire complimentary bar with delicious teas and so on on offer, as well as a commissary with sandals available for purchase. I take one of the little pots, make myself a nice black tea, and settle back at the table. It’s still before noon; maybe ten or so? Breakfast is a quick affair in our crew.

So. What to do today- well, rendezvous with Flight Captain Pithy Citrus; I need to remove her stitches before it’s too late. Scout out the city. Arrange for an appointment with a cordwainer...

What do I actually need to buy while we’re here? List it out, Mab.

Oh- there they are.

 

“Ready to go, then?”

“Mmhm. What’s the plan for today, Mab?”

“Well, Robin- first, we’re going to go find the Theater District, rendezvous with an old friend of mine, have lunch, walk around- and if I remember right, there’s a spectacular store I think you and Zoro will both enjoy. If I’m to be binding more journals, we’ll need to go there anyway. Lastly for today, I sincerely hope I can find the right cordwainer- we all need new boots. Mine, in particular, need some- _possibly adjusting_. I may very well need a new pair...”

“Hmm. Who’s your friend?”

“You’ll see when we get there.”

“Um… can we stop at a swordsmith’s before we do the other stuff? I need to-”

“Oh! Yes, yes of course- we’ll go there first.”

 

And so we leave the hotel.

  
  


This is the ceremony for laying swords to rest: the sword fighter, if they be of Honorable Blood, will wrap the fallen one in white cloth, right side over left. White cord is used to bind the shroud tightly to the body; good, he found the twine.

When the corpse is bound, the procession- in this case, the swordsman, and his crewmates- take his corpse-blade to the weaponsmith; this time sees the swordsman in the middle of his crewmates, as we’re on a schedule.

Entering the weaponsmith’s place of work, Robin holds the door open for Zoro, and I follow behind him. When the worker at the counter sees what Zoro holds, their cheery greeting dies in their throat. The worker is an older man; when Zoro pauses in front of the counter a hair too long, I realize he doesn’t actually know what to do now. Okay.

 

“Stop about half a pace from the counter. Take a deep breath, then announce the name of the fallen blade, and give a brief summary of it’s death. Announce it’s name again, and then leave it in the care of this man. Be clear and concise.”

“...Yubashiri of the Ryo Wazamono, who fell in battle with a Rust Rust man. Yubashiri- I, I leave it in your care.”

“I will care for it.”

“Hand it to him as if you were giving him a gift- both wrists facing the sky, fingers and thumbs not curled over the body. Let him lift it from you, then let your hands fall. Take two full steps back, bow but not lowly, and hold for a count of seven or ten. Then rise.”

And so he did.

  
  


“...I thought you were a spear master?”

“I was trained in staff, spear, sword, and broadsword- and my training was _extensive_. I showed a talent for the spear above all others, and so my skill in it was nurtured and tested- but I know how to lay all such weapons to rest.”

“Hmm.”

“While we’re here- do you want to get another sword, or do you want to fight two sword style until a sword presents itself? Either way, I need to get training swords for all three of us- three for you, one for Taffy, and one for me, to start with.”

“...she had no idea how to use that sword, did she?”

“No, but she hears it’s Voice clearer than I ever did. So, I feel it’s hers by right- and if she’s going to carry a weapon, she’ll know at least the basics of how to use it.”

“...Alright. What kind of sword are you going to get?”

“A shinai, why?”

“Get five of those… and I think I’m going to get a nameless blade this time.”

“Alright… this is a good store for swords.”

“Yeah. Overall quality is good, I just-”

“Hey. It’s okay. You’re allowed to be sad.”

“...Yeah. You gonna get a spear?”

“I think I am, yes. Not here though- I’ll hear it, when it’s meant for me.”

“...Mab?”

“Yes?”

“How do you- you can hear metal, right? The voice of metal?”

“Yes? Not as well as I can hear cloth- and bugs, of course, but- yes, I can. Spears are different from swords though, it's a fundamental-”

“-How do you turn it off?”

“Oh. Um, the proper phrase is tune it out, and I really- I don’t? It’s something you get used to at a comfortable level over time… I know some meditative techniques that could help, if you’d like?”

“-Please.”

“...So. After this, we’re going to go somewhere Robin’s going to like immensely; and while we’re there, we’re going to find you a journal or the materials for a journal that you really like. You can’t say the words out loud- fine. Write them instead.”

“...”

“Even I, with my ears so weakly attuned to the Voice of Metal, heard that poor sword scream when the Rust-Rust man killed it. We’re getting you a journal, Zoro.”

“...Okay, Mab.”

 

And I nod once, very seriously.

 

“Mab?”

“Hmm?”

“Could we get three journals? I- think I do need a journal. But, um, I also want to- write down some other things, for posterity. And- the logbook Nami writes isn’t… complete. Or fun to read.”

“Of course.”

“...Thank you.”

“Sure. -You can talk to me about anything, alright? I won’t ever laugh. -Anyway, these look nice, right?”

“Yeah- um, actually, I’ll pick them out. We’re going to need way more than five of them.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Pick a long one for me, please.”

“Sure.”

 

And I leave Zoro to it. Robin is speaking quietly with the old weapon seller, writing quick-hand notes in her purple journal as he speaks. I settle against an empty stretch of wall. The inside of every weapon shop is basically the same; wall to wall weapons, glass-front counters full of items small enough to pocket, too expensive to leave out in touching range. If you’ve been to one gun store, you’ve been to _every_ gun store- and this store is for swords, but it’s much the same. Racks of finer weapons, a barrel or two of bargains- the case in a sword store is full of sword cleaning supplies. Ah- now I remember. Cleaning a jian- or a spear, for that matter- is not like cleaning a katana- the basic sword cleaning kit you can get at any weapon store has almost all the things you’d need, but… not everything. Thankfully, this weapon’s shop has enough sky-folk customers to necessitate stocking it- a wide selection of smooth grained granite cubes, about 19mm in standard dice size. I’ll buy another sword cleaning kit, and two smoothing stones; if I’m getting a spear, I’ll need a kit of my own, and Taffy can have the one I got in Alabasta. (The stone I got in Alabasta is basically worn through- sandstone is good enough for the desert, but not good enough at sea.)

We leave the weapon store with a total of twelve shinai bound by a clean yellow twist of twine, slung over Zoro’s back. At his hip sits a new sword, nameless but good enough to hold a space- Zoro seems… contemplative. In my hand is a small bag- the narrow case of a sword cleaning kit, including stone, ready for when I find a new spear; the other stone wrapped in fine fabric. I lead the way through the city- I could never forget where we’re going next. Considering it’s also the rendezvous point, it’s a good idea to go there next.

  


Down the winding streets; through steadily winding corridors of soft-white stone and cobbled walking paths. Down an alley made by towering buildings with green copper roofs; up a long path crowded with rowhouses, through a narrow gate that no one guards anymore; and the first inkling of where we’re going stops Robin cold.

Outside the edifice of a theater, there’s a series of gracefully sweeping brick… retaining walls? Inset in those walls are bookshelves; empty coffee cans filled with beri, low benches with students and children and old people- reading. Children run and giggle under the shading branches of a massive tree branch growing out of the building. A low, burbling fountain ripples with soft golden scales of light. Robin isn’t moving.

 

“Robin. We’re going inside- there’s something you need to see.”

 

She looks at me. Her eyes are wet and shining. Elven settlements are usually built around Fae trees like this one, and- right, her tree was a Scholar’s tree. This must be nostalgic for her.

I smile at her, and hook her arm through mine. My other arm reaches back for Zoro.

He takes my hand in his.

We walk up the stairs together.

Robin is shaking. Zoro lets go of my hand, reaches out- opens the door.

We go inside the [ Old Theater Bookstore ](http://anotherimg.dazedgroup.netdna-cdn.com/1000/azure/another-prod/340/7/347237.jpg).

  


I leave Robin where she stands to take it all in. Zoro, I take by the hand and walk us both over to the bag check- check in our previous purchases, pocket the little keychain for the locker our things are stowed in.

 

“So. There’s something here Robin needs to see?”

“I believe so, yes. I think this is the right Poneglyph- nothing that speaks on the Void Century, but, something that she needs to see anyway. -And at the very least, if I’m wrong; the books are something she’ll enjoy.”

“...Fair. So… shall we?”

“Do let's.”

 

We walk back out to Robin, who is standing where we left her. Her hands are pressed over her mouth, tears rolling down her face. Shit, I don’t have a handkerchief for her to use- um, um- oh, the coat-check teller is waving at me, oh, she has a- she has a box of disposable tissues, oh, how kind of her. I don’t like them because they seem to melt in the face of tears, but something is better than nothing in the face of **_sentiment._ **

**Shut up, Mother.**

 

I take it from her with a half-smile, and bound back over to Robin. Zoro has slung an arm over her shoulders; he looks… lost. Like he doesn’t know what to do.

Neither do I really- but in this case, as in most cases…

 

“It’s enough that we’re here- but this is not what I brought you here to see. It’s beautiful, true- but this is not what I wanted to show you. Dry your eyes and come see what I have to show you.”

“Oh-okay.” Robin sniffles.

 

They follow me through what were seats, now row upon mumbling row of gold-lit bookshelves, towering over our heads with ancient trees and silent voices, echoes of time held in suspension of ink and paper. The rows are dotted with squashy armchairs, wingback chairs- even the uncomfortable wooden chairs so often found in the kitchens of the world. Some shelves don’t have books, but carefully tended potted plants that smell good- not quite proper to have in a place of books, but this isn’t a library, it’s a store. It’s actually one of the most popular stores in the World- they rotate their stock often enough that mold damage isn’t really a concern. I think they also let wandering artists stay here as long as they like? I know there are couches around here somewhere, I just- the store is huge and just keeps going back. A theatre is not the stage alone, after all.

Finally, we come to the orchestra pit, and the stage proper. Growing up through the pit is what has to be the trunk of the tree; a swaying mulberry. Because she’s so protected- Fae convention has it that all fruit and berry bearing trees are female (excepting figs, which are very specifically male and female), and all nut and sap bearing trees are male, no, I don’t know why that’s just how it is- tradition strikes again- Because this tree is so protected, her berries usually come in all through the spring, summer, and fall. Her mighty bows stretch all across the room, and are covered in green-yellow red and black mulberries. I’ll see if I can’t get a basket of them to take back with us.

Braced to her [ bubbling and warped trunk ](http://www.goodfoodworld.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/05/M.nigra6_1.jpg) are delicately spiraling artisanal ironwork trellises covered over in grapes and wisteria. Through the plain glass of the roof, light beats down in golden shafts on geraniums and hyssop huddled together in the bare dirt of the edges of the pit, winding around and round the stage’s front until- stairs. We climb them and find, beyond the muffling bulwark of living greenery, a lively cafe.

I take us all to the counter, braced firmly against the intrusion of outsiders. I place the order for the rendezvous and for Robin’s… sorrow. And for mulberries.

 

“One Orange and Spice herbal tea, one milk oolong, one black coffee with all fixings made available, and one large stout; we’d like to dine in the Garden.”

“Oh. Oh! Yes missus, right away-”

“Actually, no. Our last member of the dining party is not here yet- while we wait, could we perhaps take a look Backstage? -And I’d like a flat of mulberries, if there are any left.”

“Missus? -ah, yes missus, right away.”

“The elf maid next to me lost her tree long ago-”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. Yes, right away- will the sir be attending as well?”

 

I look at Zoro, who nods.

 

“He will.”

“Right this way Missus, miss, sir. -your berries can be delivered, if you’d prefer?”

“Perfect, thank you- this is the address...”

 

We follow the _pocchari_ [cafe maid](http://pbs.twimg.com/media/CTV1wIoUkAAXLZA.jpg) behind the long counter, past brass steam engines and behind a causally closed door; down a narrow hallway- made narrow by freestanding shelves and stacked to the cobwebby rafters with books- that steadily slopes and turns and winds downwards. The air is thick with dust and sunlight.

We tramp down a set of darkened stairs. On some landings, there are more books, carefully shelved in little alcoves- one in particular has a tortoiseshell moggie who opens one yellow eye and watches us pass. Pax, old woman, whose fur has gone white across the muzzle, whose ears are tattered and torn with the fury of many a battle- we’ll leave you be.

She leads us to a low door, low enough that you have to bow before entering under its red painted lintel. No books here.

She takes a tiny key from her pocket, covered in chased silver geraniums.

I remember- this is where the record of Ariel’s Folly is kept. The door opens onto natural light; soft green through leaves, dappled patches of blazing gold. This hidden, locked room is greener than anything. The ground is covered over in thick drifts of clover. We all bow to enter that quiet space.

  


In the very depths of the Old Theater Bookstore, behind the counter of the Stage Cafe, there is a mulberry tree. And in the roots of that mulberry tree, way in the Backstage Stacks, behind a locked door- there is an unbreakable stone. It’s presence isn’t advertised; but, the information on it comes from long before the Void Century, and if one knows it exists…

Because Water 7 has been a city for longer than nearly any other place, and cities- old cities especially, but new cities too- cities are built on themselves. Taken over by conquering forces, parts left abandoned due to disaster- things get covered up, ignored, forgotten. Yet, the bones of a city remain- the streets, the roads, the names of places. Walk far enough into a city, and you’ll walk backwards through time.

-Recorded on that stone, deep in a quiet corner in the bottom of the back of the most famous bookstore in the world, kept behind a locked door- in Poneglyphs- is the record of every tree born of _Chronos_ ’ branches Queen Ariel Morgan ever gave away- from the meanest of laurels to the mightiest of oaks, and everything in between.

Robin is barely breathing, she’s holding herself so still.

 

“Hey, Robin.”

“...yes Mab?”

“What kind of tree was your tree?”

“...Apple. _Knowing_ was an apple tree.”

“Okay. Fae convention is that fruit and berry trees are female, and nut, wood, and sap trees are male- except for figs, which are very distinctly both… It’s in this column, and- I can’t read all of them, I don’t remember how- but I do remember enough to say… Ah! There- right there, Lot 25 in the Female column. See it?”

“I- oh! Oh! _‘Given to the Scholar, Ohara- one Apple Tree; Name Recorded: Knowing. Received as Fair Trade: Promise of Scholarship.’_ Oh!”

“Fairies make trades for everything, it’s true- but we keep meticulous records of every trade we make.”

“ _Oh my god!_ ”

“...The Fae will remember Ohara too, Robin.”

“ **_Oh My God!_ ** ”

 

Robin is sobbing. I press the tissues into her hands.

She wraps her arms around me and gets snot and tears all over my shirt, which I bear with a resigned sort of tolerance. I pat her on the shoulder repeatedly. Eventually I settle her onto a low stone probably meant for just such an occasion, take my claws, and gently prune away the trailing vines that cover the other bit that should be here- yes, just as I remember.

Robin stares at the wall; Poneglyphs and Moon Runes in the Birkan style gleam. I smile at her.

 

“It’s just a shipping manifest, here- this is about how the world was divided, and the history of Water 7. Zoro and I are going to leave you here for a bit. When you’re ready to come back, the cafe maiden will take you to back up to us, alright?”

“I- oh. Oh my goodness- I- oh. Yes, yes that might be for the best.”

“Remember to bring the tissue box with you.”

“Alright.”

 

Zoro and I bow ourselves back out. I lead him back up into the brighter reaches of the theater. We step from stage to pit, climb the winding staircase made of woven iron up, up into the gods of the theater. Step off the highest balcony and onto a catwalk, cross from stage to far balcony; and there, in clean rows and flat wide drawers, [ a store for paper ](https://c1.staticflickr.com/1/28/46062031_8bafe90fc1_z.jpg?zz=1). We step through Wano style paper, past various glues and paints- until finally we come to the counter proper. Glass counter full of bookbinder’s materials- special bones for making the signatures, awls and needles, neatly coiled sinews and paper-wrapped waxes. And, neatly in little display cases- a full set of Irlen filters. Aha!

I speak to the shop maid.

 

“So. My crewmate here needs to be shown the selection of journals you have- and, if none suit, take him through the appropriate materials. Bring everything back here when he’s done so we can complete the purchase. -and I’ll be wanting some things from the case upon your return.”

“Yes missus, right away. This way, sir.”

 

And Zoro is led away by a woman in a giraffe-print onesie pajama set and green leather work boots. I can’t even.

 

* * *

 

You wanna know where the spillway goes? It’s pretty simple- down the big drain, there’s a reservoir, where the sea-water is treated. The reservoir uses a relatively simple system of gravity and circulation to separate the denser seawater from the lighter freshwater; it goes through a series of sealed filters, and then gets forced up through a big pipe to the central artesian well at the center of Gemini Garrison 7, aka Water 7. The brine is returned to the sea; and large particulate matter, like sea kings, are rendered into fuel for the engines that make the entire circulation system work. There’s an enclave of Tontatta and Free Automata that maintain the engines under the sea; and it’s those people that let me out of the pipes when I tap-tap-tap to be let out.

It’s pretty easy to get into the under-sea without being seen from Enies Lobby- of course, there’s only one exit to the surface. The big well for Water 7 is the only way out, but it’s pretty easy to pop out at times when no one’s looking. It’s not like anyone in management really takes the time to learn where the big drain at Enies Lobby even goes, and the superstition of not questioning where Water 7’s water comes from- lest it stop- means that it’s the perfect high speed getaway that can’t be traced.

 

Before I went to Enies Lobby- before I joined forces with the CP9, before… everything- I made a few… acquisitions. CP Chief Spandam was given a lovely tusked sabre that had been fed the Zou Zou Devil Fruit; he, foolishly, allowed me to handle it. He certainly remembered carrying it; and everyone else certainly remembered he had it with him at all times. And I’ve been spending quite a bit of time earning Funkfreed’s loyalty, mostly by sparring- because Spandam-beak bitch was a coward who never trained that anyone ever saw. There’s only one way to treat a sword, even a sweetheart like Funkfreed- as a sword. I’m no Royal- I wasn’t trained in the Four Nobilities- but I do have some skill with a blade. And so the genuine Funkfreed became my sword, properly speaking.

 

That green haired man in the Straw Hat’s crew- I saw him fight with three named blades, when I wasn’t flying hell for blood with Mab hot behind me. His form was so… beautiful…

 

If there’s a chance, I’d like very much to fight him.

  


Y’know, I’m glad CP9 got disavowed- they might come after me but I doubt it. I didn’t really register to them as worth fighting, which was entirely the point. -The rendezvous maneuver is actually quite simple; Mab knows where to go, one of the Fairies’ ancient houses of worship. She’s to order me by codename; we are then to meet on the roof. She’ll debrief me, give me my burn notice- and I’m free.

 

I really hope I still have a job at Galley-la. It’s funny- I never expected to be burned. When you're burned, you've got nothing: no cash, no credit, no job history- just yourself. You're stuck in wherever you got dumped in, be it a city in Paradise or the middle of nowhere special. You do whatever work comes your way- like you did when you had a cover, but now it’s real, and if you fuck it up you can’t just leave, like you did before. You rely on anyone who's still talking to you, even if you very recently tried to stab them in the back. Bottom line: As long as you're burned, you're not going anywhere. (Most of Mariner work is a lot of waiting around anyway- you want to know what it’s like being a spy? It’s like waiting in the office of some government official, or a doctor maybe- you read the magazines, drink the coffee, do crosswords; and very occasionally, someone tries to kill you.)

 

I’m the last member of my company- the last of the Citron Wings. When I meet with Mab, I’m going to apologise. I’m going to give her back her spear. And I’m going to accept whatever name she gives me- considering it was my own manipulation of time that convinced her to trust her sister Aradia, the only proper punishment for me- short of death- is to accept her judgement. Names and titles are important. They say everything about a Fairy- who they are, what they do, how they think about themselves. If a Fairy names themselves as Courier, Cook, Farmer, Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy- they do not think themselves important. The purpose of those people is to serve in a very fundamental way. Whatever Mab decides to name me- I’ll take it. I don’t deserve the name of Ceville Selfridge.

Mab’ll probably let me keep it, though- she’s not terribly inventive, and she’s… she’s soft hearted, really. Explains why things got as far as they did. It’s odd- she doesn’t have the King’s Haki, she’s not a natural leader… but I followed her anyway because… Because her virtues number seven, and they are the classical Virtues, too- Friendship, Hope, Joy, Honesty, Loyalty, Generosity, and Kindness. Those are the classical Fae Virtues, said to be the emblems of the best kind of people. Not the leader kinds of people- but the kind of people you want on your side.

I mean- it’s not like she doesn’t have her downsides. The Royal Blood is thick in her veins- meaning she’s got the Morgan Murder Mode, and she’s got the Portgas Pursuit too, which- activating one is a Bad Plan. Activating _both_ will not just get _you_ **killed** \- it’ll unleash a whole world of hurt and chaos on you too.

  


...In any kind of covert intelligence operation, it's important to be careful of what you wish for. The information that you fight so hard to get- it may be everything you wished for, or it may just make your life more complicated. What I learned about Aradia is- when she was a child, she broke the neck of her older sister’s pet cloudfox, Dandelion. And when their mother discovered that the elder sister- Mab- had, in a fit of love, raised her pet cloudfox from the dead… Queen Morgan killed the cloudfox again, and this time threw the body in the fire. Queen Morgan made Mab watch her beloved pet’s corpse burn to cinders, and by weeks end, Mab was bundled off to Fairisle CANE in the care of her newly named fauna, Alberich Weaponer. Not to speak badly of the Queen or the Weaponer, but- I’ve never been so glad that I’m an orphan. Fewer options, sure- but I’m free to do as I like with my life, and there’s no one telling me of the Honor I have to uphold until I want to choke them with it.

After the conversation with Aradia, where she told me- I’ve never realized what a blessing it is to not have to look my beloved one in the eye after they strike my heart and call what they’ve done ‘love’.

I’ve never realized what a blessing it is to be alone.

 

Mab choked on her Honor, and that really is the least of it.

 

-Just because someone believes you are who you say you are, doesn't mean they'll do what you want them to do. Aradia thought that by telling me what he’d done to his sister, Mab, he’d- I don’t know. I know he thought that by telling me, I’d become… compliant.

I didn’t.

I stole the Pluton plans when they moved Franky from the train to what they called interrogation- _blink-stop-blink,_ too fast for the eye to see or the Noticing to know. I tucked the plans into my bust when I prepared for battle with Mab. When the People of Water 7 let me out of the pipe, I burned it in the furnace- so now there is no record of the Pluton’s construction except for in Chronos. Considering Saturnus is being guarded by Dead Queen Mór-ríoghain, and Chronos by the Honorable and Proper Elphame themselves, there’s no possible way for Aradia- for anyone, really- to ever, ever get her hands on them.

Considering you need access to Saturnus to even _find_ Chronos, much less use it- yeah, Aradia isn’t going to ever be able to touch that information, no matter how much he begs.

 

Ah, so that’s the Trick of it- Mab must have sworn to protect a boy, and turned him into a girl. That’s the only reason I can think of that I would falter in my choice of pronouns for Aradia Stardust Morgan.

 

-They say, on the lower Blues, that dead men tell no tales.

Sky Blue knows better than that.

Considering all a man or woman needs- in Skua- to die; merely a change in their Name- when a Fae dies like that, they come back different. Like with longer hair and feminine clothing, or with soft, feathery wings and new fashion sense. Or with no more burning need to slaughter those who have wronged them.

I was glad to die for Mab Boudicca Morgan, my Boss; my professional Honor demanded no less of me. And now that I’m without a job or a name- I’ll go and meet with Mab Tailor Morgan, who knew my Boss very well indeed. She’s the only person in the World who can relay to me my Boss’ final request.

  


The People let me into one of the quicker streams up and out into the main Water 7 flow; and through bubbling waters, I rise. With a rumbling whisper, I come up from the water; Funkfreed on my back, wings stitched shut. I skulk through the flooded streets, swimming from the center city down to where my go-bag should have floated up.

It did.

I take it, and swim down to the Old Theater; change out of my ruined battle gear, and into my costume for the rest of the week- a school girl’s outfit. Low Blue birds always look oddly old- and so I’m always taken to be younger than I am. A long dark wig, a bit of a climb; and I sleep until the morning in the boughs of Cue Seven Go, the ancient mulberry tree given as a wedding present to Tomlin and Margo by Archigos Ariel. Tuck the duffle with the spear in the high boughs of the tree- no one will touch it there.

 

In the morning, when the waters have receded and the sun has risen, the bookstore opened- I make my way in. In intelligence work, surveillance is called coverage. It's like spangle: you can run zone defense, or man to man. Man to man coverage is risky. Follow someone too long, they're going to get suspicious. Zone coverage is usually the way to go- just stay put, and let targets come to you; less obvious, easier on the feet, and you can catch up on your gossip. Or in my case, sleep; the Old Theater has this policy of allowing students and artists and writers and such to just… stay. There are dorms, backstage, for the workers- but if you just find a squashy chair and stay a while, they won’t kick you out. I find a good spot near enough the stage cafe to see and hear each person who comes up to the counter- and a day after… my swim, Mab and the green-haired swordsman come walking right past me. I listened to their order, heard the meeting place- I’m not sure why I was surprised to hear that Mab remembered my favorite tea. Mab always remembers things like that.

 

I take Funkfreed, grab my pack, and with a few beri buy him a small snack from the cafe counter; he’s a sword, not an elephant- although he likes eating food, he doesn’t actually require it. Mulberries are always nice to eat.

And then I leave and climb the edifice of the theater, insinuating myself into the boughs of the mulberry tree.

 

My cue is coming up. I’d hate to miss it.

 

* * *

 

Zoro and the shop maid return with a selection of paper- unlined paper, lined paper, paper with patterns on it in straw yellow, white, and red; a journal with a [ wheeled triskele ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/a9/bd/88/a9bd88e6ea9c1e6113c0c599172b87b0.jpg) cut into the tooled leather cover and held closed with a strap; a plain white journal, made to look like an old book, it’s cover [ engraved ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/a7/68/48/a76848c0384466f21ea0b6d9cba5f39f.jpg) with gladiolus flowers; a pencil case, pencils, an eraser, a pencil sharpener. The shop maid leaves Zoro with me, scoots around us both and returns to behind the counter, at the register; Zoro squeaked when she passed behind him. He’s now blushing hard enough to turn his normally tanned skin a burnished sort of red; his cheeks, his forehead, his eyes averted from her. So Zoro’s shy- which is cute. If I was the shop maid, I’d have goosed him too.

I buy Zoro’s choices, paper I saw that would make nice covers for our crewmates- if I’m making Zoro a journal, I might as well make everyone a journal. I buy myself a sketchbook, a nice messenger bag, and a full set of Irlen Lenses with the kit that lets you turn them into a pair of glasses. I have a theory. And if it turns out to be wrong, I can make myself a comfy pair of fine-work glasses, which are always nice to have.

The various purchased papers get rolled into a heavy cardboard tube and, upon my showing of the keychain for the coat check, are stowed with our previous purchases. Zoro seems to have mastered his blush- but then the shop maid says something to him, sending him into another round of furious blushing. I take him back down into the bookstore before he can do an injury to himself.

 

“So… are all Sky Blue girls like that?”

“Like what?”

“...Giggly.”

“If they’re working a counter, yeah. ...I mean… did you not notice her flirting with you?"

“Um- I mean… I guess I did, I just- how do you tell girls you’re not interested in them?”

“Generally speaking, you tell them you’re not interested. Your reaction wasn’t- I couldn’t tell if you liked her attentions or not by how you reacted? In the future, if you don’t like the way a girl touches you, how anyone touches you, turn your whole body away, not just your face- feet, hips, chest, head.”

“...So, um. How do you get guys to notice you’re interested?”

“Again, usually by telling them you’re interested- I know the Low Blues have a weird stigma against same sex relationships, but… I mean. Do you want to go on a date with a guy?”

“...Not really? Just. I like guys more than girls, I think. I mean- I think maybe I like them both? I- don’t know.”

 

We’ve stopped in an alcove formed by an idiosyncratic wobble in the wall of the theater and towering bookshelves. Zoro’s voice is- quiet. Conversational, but quiet.

 

“Well- um, do you want my advice for… um, figuring out if you even feel attraction? I mean, some people- some people just don’t and that’s okay-”

“Uh. Y-yeah, that would be...”

“Okay so- think of it like a pond. Everyone has a pond- with dirt and plants and such. Most people you meet will have fish in their ponds, or turtles, or even cranes or bugs. And some people only have plants. There’s nothing wrong with a pond that just has plants in it- it’s a perfectly functional ecosystem. But everyone’s always bugging you about what kind of fish your pond has, is it maybe turtles, oh gosh is it cranes- which indicates the presence of both fish and turtles, even when you say there’s way more fish than turtles or way more turtles than fish; or maybe you’re like me. I have a pond that’s full of bugs- which means I don’t feel attraction, real attraction, until after I get to know someone. I also don’t care about gender, which can be complicated-”

“So- wait, Sanji and you-”

“We were betrothed as children. People are themselves when they turn about seven- and we never really change who we are, we just get bigger and come up with more complicated justifications for our actions. Anyway- if it turns out you like fish, okay. Turtles, okay. Cranes, okay. Bugs, okay. If it’s just plants, okay. It could even be frogs, but I’ve got no idea what frogs could be...”

“Heh. Hey Mab-?”

“Hmm?”

“Nothing, nevermind. Thanks for doing this- taking me here, not… not making fun of me for...”

“Of course! Sex and Romance are Serious Business, after all- they can mess you up far worse than any battle. -and I wouldn’t make fun of you for having feelings anyway, god knows I got teased for sentiment as a child...”

  


We make our way back up to the Stage Cafe, where the pocchari cafe maid is leading Robin back in; a different maid in a green dress with clovers in her hair leads us all up a winding iron-metal staircase, through a [ garden door ](https://st.hzcdn.com/fimgs/0081a8dd007462fb_1894-w500-h400-b0-p0--traditional-landscape.jpg) \- and into a [ patio seating area ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/c1/b4/58/c1b45896b143db285e24622f73bba385.jpg).

Robin and Zoro settle to my left and right; I sit with my back to the garden door, on a stool seat. Across from me the patio maid sets the pot of orange spice tea, sets out tea things- sugar, lemon wedges, cream- sets the tankard of brown ale in front of Zoro, sets the coffee set in front of Robin, bows low, and takes her leave. I set a cube of sugar in the bottom of the cup across from me, pour orange spice tea into it, set the teapot down. Wait.

Because, you see, milky oolong doesn’t exist.

And there’s her cue.

 

A woman- tall, pale, thin, pink lips, long pink hair that’s been dyed brown, tusked saber at her side- settles into the other stool. Her skirt is dark blue, neatly pleated- it falls to her mid-calf. Her shirt is white, sleeveless- a v-necked halter top, tied with a bow behind her neck, tucked into her skirt. Her sword is belted onto her hips with a leather belt. Faintly wafting from her skin- the scent of oranges.

 

“Chairete, Severa ‘Blue Curaco’ Ceville. Nice to see you again.”

“Heso, Mab Tailor Morgan. Always noice to see a familiar face.”

“I heard you drowned…?”

“Drowned in work, more like. I recently quit, though; the joab was crap, the food was shite, and the people were barstards, the whole lot of’em.”

“Hmhmhmhm! Good for you! Although… I heard you had something to say to me?”

“Y-yes. Yes, that’s correct. I apologize- it was my manipulation of time that allowed Her the ability to manipulate **you** the way she did.”

“Ach. ’Salright- I don’t blame you. If you weren’t her cat’s paw, she’d have found another- and you’ve met her, unfortunately. She’s terribly mercurial.”

“...Yes, I suppose she is. -Did you know, I’m the only member of my Flight left?”

“No, surely not-? Oh, Blue, I’m so sorry.”

“No, no- it’s alright. I realized quickly enough that you were right to warn me of Her- it’s my own fault for not passing the warning on; for not taking you as seriously as I should‘ve. Um- on that note, something I did take you seriously on- your spear. I’ve got it still- and, um, I mean to return it to you.”

“Ah. Well- considering all oaths are finished when the oathtaker dies, if you have something that someone who is now dead wishes returned to me- well. I’ll accept it, of course.”

“Of course.”

 

Severa stands, climbs up the tree’s branches- and comes back down with a long dufflebag. Inside it, still and piercing, it’s Voice a welcome friend even still- my spear. I take it from Severa with no words- stand, and tuck it’s cloth scabbard into my pocket.

I made it with my _fauna’s_ help; a shaft of ashwood treated with pyrobloin, the leaf shaped blade made of what’s called [ S7 Shock Steel ](http://www.hudsontoolsteel.com/technical-data/steelS7) , a kind of tool steel- also treated with pyrobloin. Lashed just below the blade is the tassel, a bright red mop of horsehair-like strands taken from a sea king; it’s been so long since I’ve handled anything meant to pierce quite like this. This is no _needle_ \- this is a _spear_ . This is **my spear**.

My arms felt incomplete without it.

I can’t stop smiling.

 

“Ach- I hadn’t realized.”

“Ah?”

“I hadn’t realized how pretty you are when you use a weapon truly suited for you.”

“Hmhmhmhmhm! Well- enough of that, I’ll have to have a spar later and see what all needs adjusting. Have you any plans for the future? You did just quit your old joab...”

“Oh- um, well... I’m hoping my part time job will turn into a full time joab- I work part time at Galley-la, and hopefully I can get a larger position there. Hm- there’s some other things what got left for you, um- I’ll just leave them here? I need to- I need to go. I’m sorry- I’m. I think I’m late for work.”

“Oh of course! Don’t let me keep you- Ah, a hug before we part?”

“Oh! Ah- Sure.”

 

And so Severa Ceville 'Blue Curaco' Selfridge and I embrace for perhaps the only time- ever, in our lives- in true fellowship. As we hold each other, I cut the threads holding her wings inside her body, but not her flesh.

 

“Remember to preen, Sevy- long, harsh seasons can be just _murder_ on keeping your wings in good condition.”

“-Yes, well. You’d know that very well, wouldn’t you?”

“Hmhmhmhmhm! -Watch your back, Severa. Things have a habit of going strange around me, and spreading from coast to coast. -Ah, and if the Galley-la doesn’t work out, there’s a restaurant in Est called Baratie; they always need a waitress or two who won’t run when pirates come a-calling. Seems more your street.”

“Is that so? -Well, if the Galley-la doesn’t work out, I’ll take the Mare Wind. Safe travels, Miss Busybee.”

“Happy hunting, Miss Spider.”

 

And then she grinned at me, and vaulted the fence separating the public part of the roof from the private part. Then she is gone, beyond my sight. Hah. Good riddance.

 

“Well, that’s dusted. Do either of you need to get anything else done, or…?” I ask my crewmates.

“U-um. I’m- a bit worn out, from the day. If you’re ready to go back to the hotel...”

Robin is puffy eyed, but smiling gently, bittersweet.

 

“Didn’t you need to go to a cordwainer?” says Zoro.

“I think my boots are a lost cause- I sweated through them during the fight and they just. -They _stink_. I’ll take the buttons off tonight and go get a new pair tomorrow.” I say.

“Heh. In that case, sure, let’s go back.” says Zoro.

“Um, before we go- what is this tree’s name?” says Robin.

“This mulberry? It’s name is Cue Seven, Go Robin.”

 

And Zoro sniggered all the way back to the hotel. I think he got the joke. Old people have terrible senses of humor; I think Zoro just likes laughing at ridiculous things.

  


We return to our hotel room to a scene of mild destruction- Taffy tilts crazily in mid-stride then falls like a tree in a logging camp. She hits the ground with a bone deep kind of relaxation, then rolls to her feet; Sanji watches attentively while shelling peas. On the couch, Luffy, Usopp, and Mark are all tangled together in a sleeping pile of comfort- ah good. They talked.

Chopper is napping on the ottoman; and Nami and Bryony are nowhere to be seen. Ah, no, just in a different part of the common room.

 

“Hey Sanji-love.”

“Hey, Mab-love. You’re back already?”

“Oh yes- Robin’s still pretty worn out from the other day, Zoro’s business was actually quite quick, and I got what I needed to get for the most part. I do need to go through it and start Zoro’s journal… -Oh, should I make one for you?”

“...?”

“Well, I could make a book for your handwritten recipes, so you don’t have to keep rifling through pornographic magazines to research a recipe you don’t quite remember-”

“Mab- oh, wait. Um, I kinda- I have a system…?”

“...Okay but magazine paper isn’t very… it’s not very good paper? I mean, if you really want to keep the half naked women, I can copy those onto better paper too?”

“ _Really?”_

“Yes, I’m actually pretty good at copying. -Robin, go have a lie down, today was hard on you.”

“...okay, Mab.”

“It’s okay if you need to eat dinner by yourself-”

“No, no; I’ll come back out for dinner.”

“Are you sure?”

“Mhm.”

“Alright. But- yes, go take a rest. You deserve it.”

“...kay...”

 

And Robin tottered off- well I say tottered, but she moves with an uncanny grace no matter what. She certainly had a bit of a slump to her shoulders, a hitch in her get-along. Some rest would do her good.

Zoro has settled at the dining room table, after setting the bundle of _shinai_ upright in the hallway. I put the tube of paper by him at the table, along with my messenger bag; my spear gets leaned against my chair’s back, after I sit down in it. The duffle goes at my feet- I don’t know what’s in it, really, but I’m going to find out. In a moment.

I pull out my sketch book- let’s see here.

Open the tube, pull out [ Zoro’s green paper ](http://cdn3.volusion.com/wyqvk.mznxn/v/vspfiles/photos/PT1114-2.jpg?1422524930) marked with thistles- except, no; that paper shop maid really knew what her business was, she’s given me a bag of scraps for every kind of paper I bought.

I take the scrap piece of Zoro’s inside cover paper out, along with the paper he picked for the pages, lay them out on my blank sketchbook page. Sketch out what the final book’s going to look like, consider how many pages I’m going to put in- 600 ought to be just right, considering the near onion skin paper he picked for himself. I fix the paper to the sketched out proposal with my spit, leave a space for the leather we’ll get on recommendation from the cordwainer, flip to a new page, and start again- this time, Sanji. A scrap of [ Sanji’s inside cover paper ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/67/bc/c2/67bcc24b27d360cf0f065f7bae233f7e.jpg), clean archival white for the pages, fix paper, flip to new.

Since I’m here, I might as well arrange everyone else’s paper; and some practice papers as well, printed with [ roses ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/82/d9/ab/82d9ab61c2a1d0ead31a3e14c5229145.jpg) or [ anemones ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/1b/02/c0/1b02c015171fe97e918f2611910a7439.jpg) or an adorable [ carrot ](http://s3.amazonaws.com/spoonflower/public/design_thumbnails/0078/7695/rrpurple_carrot_shop_preview.jpg) printed pattern I just couldn’t leave behind. And an un-patterend mossy green paper for myself.

Sanji’s cookbook will be a tome much like my own for sewing, but instead of brown leather, I’ll use a nice fish leather. Mm, yes. A [ wrap-round ](http://cdn.rustico.com/store/media/catalog/product/cache/1/image/9df78eab33525d08d6e5fb8d27136e95/b/k/bk0060-0002_2.jpg) journal in blue dyed glazed-finished [ fish leather ](https://sealeatherwear.com/images/blue-glazed-fish-leather-550.jpg). That’ll be nice.

 

Considering shoes- for myself, because of my admittedly poor use of Aramament Unguis, I need new boots. Basically what happens is the area just above and around the anterior and posterior of my ankle becomes something like a shredder- and while the damage to my boots isn’t visible on the outside, on the inside I can see the leather flaking away. So I need new boots, a different design entirely. The buttons are okay though; plain silver, four of them in total. They’re actually just big enough to put runes on- if I can remember them… Well, anyway, let’s check what else is in the duffle Severa left for me.

 

Oh. Oh.

**_Oh-_ **

  


These are my- these are my tools! A vice, an anvil; a wishbone-shaped Eisen Wand meant to be used as a saw or a knife; the rounded end of a femur reshaped into an awl-type Eisen Wand; a simple sternum scraper bone, no Dial-modification; the other end of the femur meant to be used as an Eisen Wand hammer. Vertebrae spacers and clips, flat rib-bone pins and spacers, my little tin box of spiney pins meant to hold fabric together before I sew it; the needle case for my sewing needles- empty, but that’s alright. My old tape measure, my shears- my [ chalk ](https://ae01.alicdn.com/wsphoto/v0/32240419621_1/Free-shipping-DIY-Sewing-Parts-Triangle-Chalk-Wheel-tailor-s-chalk-Red-Yellow-Blue-3-pieces.jpg) ! My [ chisels ](http://media.tumblr.com/03827f52dcb7b390eb07f26082ac0105/tumblr_inline_mpojbzWs3z1qz4rgp.jpg) ! My obsidian surgeon’s [ blades ](https://t1.ftcdn.net/jpg/00/10/67/90/500_F_10679013_bWbD8uOmhekB1tLY9FXyc7O5WXqodPA5.jpg) ! My [ combs ](https://images.trocadero.com/stores/AsianArtByKyoko/items/1073178/picture1.jpg) ! And- oh. Oh my god I forgot about the [ little sea turtle ](https://img0.etsystatic.com/104/1/8264485/il_340x270.1003166006_365u.jpg). I made it for- for Sanji.

Oh.

I can’t seem to stop crying, but I’m not angry, or sad- I’m… happy? But, sad, too.

I don’t know how to say it. (Could this be nostalgia?)

I can’t help but press my hands over my mouth, over my nose. Try to keep- breathing.

Sanji, by now, knows how to ask me questions that I can answer. And so, he does.

 

“...are those your tools?”

I nod.

 

“...So- refresh my memory. What’s it called when you’re in charge of a big portion of the government in Sky Blue? Like, the highest authority of that part of the government- what’s the title for that?”

“-Grana. When you’re at the very head of the Office, you’re given the title of Grana.”

“So… what were you going to be?”

“...Grana Mariner.”

“Hm. And when your Mother died, you had to become…?”

“Grana Line.”

“And you had to give up your tools.”

I nod.

 

“And… these are your tools, given back…?”

“Aye. ...When the notice came that Mother had died, it was just- just a week, really, past the notice that my brother, being of sound mind, had declared himself male. I had been training to become Grana Mariner, head of the division of Sky Blue that keeps tabs on all that happens- down here, in the Low Seas. But- in Sky Blue, males make the Line, and females carry the Line. I had already declared myself female, and the Queen of Fae is always female, not male- to carry the Line forward, it has to be done by a female. Continuity, they called it, for all they didn’t want me-

My duty was plain- and so I put my tools away, and entrusted them to the care of my most loyal Elements, the Citrons. And then- I left to become Grana Line.”

“...How did that go for you?” says Sanji.

Robin has sat herself at the table. She interjects- there’s only so many times I can say it in a week.

 

“As I understand it, Mab becoming Grana Line was possibly the worst thing for her. Correct?”

I swallow. Another tear rolls hot down my face. I nod again.

 

“So- these were returned to you today? And the spear?”

“...The spear’s different. But- Bitter Orange was the last living member of the Citron Element. When we fought each other at Enies Lobby, Bitter Orange died. And so, today, someone she trusted returned my effects to me… For the Fae, our work _is_ our Honor. My work became ‘fighting for my people and providing heirs for the throne’; my skills actually lie in ‘making clothing and going on adventures’. And so my Honor was lost. Or rather- the Honor of Queen Mab Boudicca Morgan was lost, when she killed her brother and her son in the same year.”

“Neh, Tailor- you killed your brother and son?” says Captain. Some things you have to explain a dozen times for him to sort-of not understand at all- and some things he doesn’t need to be explained at all.

  


“I did.” I say.

“Why?” says Captain. His black eyes gleam; without the shade of his hat- which is resting on Mark’s head- his eyes are piercing. Hah.

 

I swallow. Deep breath. Say it. Say it. Say it, Mab, you fucking coward.

 

“He raped me, so I killed him. I took an axe and cut off both his heads and killed him dead. -I’m not sorry he had to die, but… I am sorry I had to kill him.”

“Mab.”

“Yes, Luffy?”

“How did your baby die?”

“Aradia pushed me- or had me pushed- down the stairs, and I was already so sickly at the time… it was late enough in my pregnancy that the baby could have survived outside my body, but he came out broken, and I- I couldn’t save him. So, he died. I place a large amount of blame on Aradia, for killing my baby, but- I think I’m at fault, too.”

“How do you know that?” says Zoro. Nami and Bryony came back sometime during my- purgative speech. I can’t just stop now. Chopper is wide eyed, eyes still crusty with sleep; he’s drawn his knees to his chest. Usopp and Mark are holding each other in- in-

 

“It’s quite simple, really. I was trained as a midwife quite thoroughly, and… I’d been able to save children that were born like that before, I had to, it was- it was part of my job. But when that baby came out, all broken into crumpled pieces- I knew, of course, that I could save it if I just hurried, I could save him. But I couldn’t make myself move. -Eventually, the window of opportunity was lost, and the only thing I could do was offer him mercy. So I did. I suppose a kind of madness must have overtaken me; I don’t remember the next half year at all. But when I awoke, I had been declared a betrayer. I don’t think I betrayed anyone, really- just bad luck that I couldn’t make eggs for myself nor bring a baby into this world. And so, Aradia shot me in the back of the head, tore off my wings, and threw me into the sea to die.”

“...But- your wings grew back?” says Luffy.

“Yes, because I made them do so. Normally, when they grow back, they grow back- wrong. There are perks to being a bloodmage, I suppose... Really, just because Aradia beat me doesn’t mean she won. I did not unzip my chest to accept all the harms of creation just to let her- **_defeat me_ **.”

“So… what are you going to do to your sister?” says Nami.

She’s sitting next to Sanji; Sanji has put his bowl of shelled peas aside on the table. He’s facing the table- I’ve never seen him so furious. On the couch, Chopper, Usopp, Mark, Taffy, and Bryony are all clinging to each other in- in-

“It’s obvious, isn’t it? I’m going to kill her. My brother Titania, myself, and Aradia were Mother’s- no, excuse me, Madam’s- only children. We’re certainly not the only ones who can carry on the Line. I have cousins- cousins who are much stronger than Aradia, and not as easily misled as I. However, they cannot move to carry the Line so long as Aradia lives- and with me being exiled, I’m effectively dead. There’s a path I can still take- but I’m not sure I want to, really... And I cannot leave my people in the care of- _Aradia_. So.

By now, she knows full well that I’m not dead- and soon enough, I’m going to call on Granuna, and declare blood-feud. When Aradia comes to find me, because she will, she won’t be able to resist; _I’m going to find her_ **_first._ ** ”

  


By now, Usopp has extricated himself from the comforting tangle on the couch, and settled in a seat at the table, his legs spread around the back of one of the last remaining wooden chairs. Between Usopp and Sanji sits Chopper, his eyes blazing with- concern? Anger? I don’t know.

  


This is how things are arranged- My Captain, Luffy, at the head of the table; to his right, Nami, then Usopp, then Chopper, then my lovely husband Sanji; the empty foot of the table, myself, an empty chair, Robin, and Zoro to Captain’s immediate left. There’s a certain way of things- Fairytales (the real ones, which this is) always have a certain… theatricality about them.

So when Chopper asks the question- I can’t help but take the cue.

 

“Um, Mab- how are you going to call on Grana Una? ...Who is Grana Una?” says Chopper.

 

On the couch, Taffeta whimpers.

I smile.

I stand.

I move the chair no one has sat in from my side to the foot of the table, back just enough for someone to sit in comfortably.

I retake my seat.

 

“That’s simplest of all, Chopper. To call on Grana Una, I need only call her name thrice.”

“...” says Chopper. Says everyone.

My smile widens. There’s nothing- nice, about my smile. Kind, surely- but nothing nice at all. I’ve forgotten something important- two somethings, even. Ah well. I’ll remember eventually.

 

“What’s her name?” says Robin.

“Mór-ríoghain, Mór-ríoghain, Mór-ríoghain.”

 

And my great grandmother, Granuna, Mór-ríoghain herself- there might be a ‘The’ in there, I’ve never been good with titles- one legged, rum soaked, and probably entirely nude, appears in the chair I’ve set out for her.

My Granuna Mór-ríoghain is culturally a syreene, even though she’s very obviously some kind of cherumib.

Woven into her hair are the bones of tiny creatures, the teeth of every enemy she’s ever defeated- bush hunter’s rules- the feathers of ravens and spotted woodpeckers and the pure sharp white of an albatross- chicken feathers woven over her crown and the shining green tail-feathers of a rooster shooting high into the air. Vulture feathers stinking of carrion and the battlefield from where they’re carelessly, artfully strewn through her shining hair, along with condor and crane- now silver, now black, ever shifting in the light. Her raven-black feathered cape is actually a pair of wings; she is a cherumib, after all.

Surely a cherumib more ancient in kind than Chief Conis- her wings still have talons at the great joint where in a hand the wrist would start, and they shine a red-black in the light, surely stained from the blood of countless foes. I’ve been hugged enough by my Granuna Mór-ríoghain’s wings to know the truth of her awesome and terrible strength.

Her breasts are long and sagging, and she usually takes one- the left one- and wraps it twice around her chest and loops it once over to keep it tucked away. She keeps the various sundries that don’t fit in her fake leg in the pocket of flesh created by her loose breasts. She- argh, argh- she keeps plums dried with layers of sugar and salt in a small pouch- the taste of horrible sweet-salt suffering plum- and boiled sweets that have no flavor and argh argh argh a change of clothing in her tit-pocket that always fits but is never comfortable or is very comfortable but in the style of four hundred years past. And her glasses, the beads of her glasses fall down into her- Oh god.

Well, I remember what I forgot now- Granuna is fucking terrifying when she’s out on business.

Holy fucking fuck.

Her finely wrinkled skin is covered in some of the most beautiful scarification I’ve ever seen- places where she was surely struck by lightning, others burnt in tattoos that do not tan but remain a stark, glaring white. Her skin is very soft otherwise. Her glasses are on a string of deep red beads no bigger than a seed pearl, and they are also tucked into her tit-pocket argh argh argh. The frames are red. I remember that. Oh god.

 

“Hello, dearest great granddaughter.”

“Hello, great grandmother.”

“Are you calling me out to battle?”

“Oh no, Granuna, not today- I merely call you to drink with my crewmates.”

“Such politeness! Well, for such a daring request, how can I refuse?”

 

And she- argh argh argh, yes she unhooked straps on her thigh and pulled her entire leg off and she’s pulling out a bottle she’s pulling out the bottle of rum and a stack of little wooden cups- no, they’re mugs oh no. Oh no.

Oh nooooooooo.

Shit, I can’t refuse. Shit fuck-

Argh argh argh it’s not paint thinner and cough syrup it’s Nortland-style vodka and chunks of cherrywood and barley sugar and honeycomb it’s not sugar it’s too sweet and it’s awful it’s awful the vodka is shitty and cheap and full of oils and oh god oh god I have to drink the whole thing I don’t want to drink this. I stare deeply into mug of deep black-red liquid.

The scent of alcohol and terrible, terrible decisions wafts up to me.

Sanji is keening.

 

I reach across the table and take his hand in mine.

I look into horror filled blue eyes.

 

“We have to drink it.”

Sanji shakes his head no.

 

“If we don’t drink it, we’ll be rude. Which means my Grana Una will take offence. Which means we’ll have to fight her.”

 

Sanji, perhaps unwillingly, looks at my Grana Una. She smiles cheerfully. In her mouth are a multitude of sharp, sharp black teeth, shining with tiny gemstones and the agonized faces of- Sanji looks back at me, paler than before, scattered sun-marks in stark relief.

 

“Do we have to drink all of it?”

“Yes.”

“...If we fought her, would we win?”

“I mean- we could definitely fight her. That’s an option. But. Um.”

“I’d beat **all** of you like **drums** \- and then, because I am the **kind** grandmother of my **_favorite_** great granddaughter, I will simply **_have_** to stay and **ensure** that none of you **ever** , but _ever_ lose to me in such a way again.” Her raspy voice turns into a throaty, deadly purr.

Her teeth are sharp and black-shining, like a blade. Up my spine runs the shard of that horrible curling feeling, that knowing for a certainty, that all of us- _all of us_ \- are entirely out of our league should we choose to fight.

 

I turn my head and stare at Captain. He’s staring at the table- at our crewmates, at my Grana Una, at the winking red-gleaming rotgut sublimating in our mugs. He nods to himself, once, takes the mug in hand, and downs it all in one gulp. The mug hits the table with a wooden thump.

Well now I _have_ to drink it.

Zoro and Nami are next- they down their mugs with a minimum of fuss. Nami coughs until tears of pain leak from the corners of her eyes. Zoro appears to be trying not to throw up. Robin is holding her nose with one hand, the mug with two, and has covered her eyes with another two. And then she downs her glass in one long gulp. A sharp inhaled whistle is the only notice of her opinion on what she’s drunk. Usopp is holding his mug and staring at it- no, no, he’s drunk it but he hasn’t swallowed. His cheeks are bulging with liquid. Chopper is in his reindeer form, and seems to be enjoying the taste of the noxious hellbroth.

I look at Sanji.

Sanji looks at me.

 

“At the same time?”

“Yeah.”

 

We take our mugs, salute each other, and swallow the red water. It scratches my throat all the way down, and settles to froth in my gut. Usopp still hasn’t swallowed. I look at him. Chopper’s mug is hanging off one of his antlers, a steady hiccup from the reindeer jostling it in a graceful whirl. Usopp still hasn’t swallowed. Nami is wiping tears and snot from her face. Zoro is drunk and listing steadily from side to side. Robin sprouts a hand from the top of his chair and shoves him back upright. Usopp still hasn’t swallowed. Beads of sweat roll down his long nose, drip and plop onto the table. Chopper isn’t hiccuping- Luffy is.

 

“Usopp, if you have to vomit immediately after swallowing that’s fine- but you can’t spit it out.”

He moans through his closed mouth and looks at me pleadingly.

 

“Spitting it out would be considered a rejection of the Terms of Parley- and grounds for an immediate fight. Since Captain drank the- booze-” Sanji has a soft red streak going right across his face, a deep sort of flush. He’s allergic to alchohol? No… “Since Captain drank, we all have to drink. You don’t have to keep it down- but you do have to drink it. Swallow it and keep moving forward.”

 

Usopp swallows, shudders, and immediately dives for the kitchen. Sharp retching noises echo from the kitchen, followed by the sounds of splashing and chunky thumps. Oh god. No, I’m not going to sympathy vomit.

My Granuna smiles. Her chest heaves up and her tits go from saggy wrap to young and perky and-

Oh my god.

I- I can’t ever unsee this.

  


A much paler Usopp returns to us, wet faced and shivering. Sanji is drunk. I’ve seen him drink an entire bottle of wine and be fine, how- how strong even is my alcohol tolerance, what the hell-

It’s just spiced rum… what the hell kind of herbs does Granuna even add to this shit!?!?

Oh god she’s tamping her pipe it’s long and brass and shaped vaguely like a length of bamboo or a dick and oh my god that _smell_ \- like tobacco from a skunk- this is why I don’t like smoking! Gah!

That stench doesn’t wash out easily at all!

 

“So. What’s the news?”

“Ah. Well, I’m declaring blood feud on Aradia- I mean to kill her.”

“I see. Well, the only way to end a Lie is to tell the Truth. If you’re ready for that, who am I to stop you? ...Is that all?”

“No, Granuna. I’ve made three changelings- they’re on the couch; these are my crewmates, I’ve become a pirate; and I got married. This is my husband, Sanji.”

“How **lovely**. Well, do introduce them.”

“Yes Granuna. Captain Monkey D. Luffy is from Est, sworn brother to Portgas D. Ace, and future King of Pirates. First Mate Roronoa Zoro is from Est, has a powerful ambit-curse embedded in his blood- or he’s a changeling, I don’t think it really matters, it’s hereditary either way; and he is going to be The Greatest Swordsman in the World. Second Mate Navigator Nami Stormborn is from Est, is a powerful but untaught Weather Mage, and is going to create an Accurate Map of all the World. Sniper Usopp Sharpeye, a Brave Man of the Sea, the Greatest Sniper to Ever Live. The Cook, Sanji Poisson Vinsmoke is from Nort-Est, my beloved husband, and the finest cook on the sea; he is the man who will find All Blue. The Doctor, Tony Tony Chopper is from Sakura Kindom on the Line, he’s a reindeer, and will one day Cure Every Disease. The Archaeologist Nico Robin is from Wes; she is learned in the languages of all folk, and she will learn the True History of the World. Gunner Mark Merry Reed is from Water 7 on the Line, twin brother of the one called Going Merry; he dreams of Adventure. Buildrat Dracule Taffeta is from Upper Yard in Skua, graceful and clumsy in turn; she dreams of Clowning. Communer Monkey D. Bryony Lovelace is from Twin Capes on the Line, kin but not of a kind to the Captain; she dreams of Revolution. As for myself, I am Portgas D. Mab Tailor Morgan from Fairisle in Skua, remembering more every day; I will be the Greatest Sewing Professional in the World.”

“Humhumhum. Yes- I see the likeness of Ms. Bryony and your Captain- they both have the capacity for truly monstrous strength, though Ms. Bryony’s seems to be expressing itself more obviously. As your Captain is sworn brother to your sibling- who I now have clear confirmation yet lives- I now have two new living grandsons to spoil, which is an event of great excitement in my dotage.”

“You haven’t dotaged a day in your life.” I grumble, taking another slug of the rum- _when did she refill the mugs!?_

“Humhumhumhum. The Roronoa-chick has quite a ways to go before he can challenge the Greatest as an equal- still, there’s steel under his skin. All paths willing, he’ll yet see the end- though that curse of his will get him into more wonder than suffering. The Stormborn has a gift, but could use some refinement- a new tool is all well and good, but learning to use it properly takes time. See to it that she learns on something a bit less… volatile. The Sharpeye is very brave indeed, but must learn to coax himself into action- others cannot be doing all the coaxing, there simply isn’t time for it. Start small, is my advice. Your husband is the spitting image of his ancestor, [ Udoroth ](https://youtu.be/yetRJ9aAyvc?t=20s), which is drawing up great amounts of nostalgia.”

 

Granny Una looks at me, looks at Sanji, looks back at me, and gestures with her hands dick-pipe clenched between her teeth- a distance of about thirteen centimeters. I shake my head no, and gesture about twenty three centimeters- quite a bit larger. She squeaks with surprised interest. I give her a warning look, but nod, smiling.

 

“Udoroth was great fun, mhum.”

“Granuna... I love you, but I will cut a bitch.”

“Hmph. I’m just saying…! -I’ll give your man a black emu boutonniere before I go.”

“Oh! How sweet!” I take another drink of the rum and finish my cup. I’m forgetting some etiquette, but too late now.

 

“Of course, dear girl. -Now. The Doctor is young and a bit untested still. He needs some weathering- but he’ll definitely be a credit to the profession. The Archaeologist shall have to ask me her questions by post, as I cannot stay long enough to be properly interviewed- I’ll leave my mailing address if you’ll make the arrangements for her?”

“Of course, Granuna.”

“Good, good. The Gunner needs weapons and teaching in the Art of Dance- nothing of flame, it would not do him any favors. I assume his sister was interred in fire?”

“Aye.”

“Hmmph. I’ll leave my old blunderbuss with you- see what you can make of it. You need not teach him to perform, mind- the simple principles of movement will suffice.”

“Yes, Granuna.”

“The Buildrat ought to be ready for flensing sometime tomorrow, and that should cure her of what physical limitations she has. After that, all she’ll need is experience to iron out any deficiencies; as far as I can see, she has the natural talent of timing already, she merely needs to learn what constitutes a good joke, and what does not. -As for the Communer, well- is it not a grandmother’s prerogative to supply her grandchildren with the fancies they’ll need eventually? And teach the poor girl to kickbox, she won’t be ready for a weapon of any kind otherwise.”

“Thank you, Granuna.”

“Of course! -As for your feud, I’ve been wondering when you’d get around to calling for one- when the Stone didn’t take your name, well, I knew you weren’t dead- your Mother as well.”

“Madam yet lives?”

“-Certainly. So you’ve come to terms with it then?”

“I assume so. It’s not my fault I wasn’t the child she- or the Court- wanted. Even at the end.” I sigh.

I take another slug of my rum- _fuck, how much of this can I even drink?_

There’s a reason I don’t like to drink with my Granuna.

It always brings out the very worst in us both.

 

“Hmm. Quite right. -I told that girl to kill [ him ](http://orig03.deviantart.net/e046/f/2015/018/b/f/goldroger_by_sergiart-d8ef3z6.png) and be done with it, but she said “No, it’ll hurt [ Roux ](https://68.media.tumblr.com/e8e350a9a6776b5cd738fd75df6880e7/tumblr_inline_ogxbg9yBna1s357q3_540.png) ”, and I told her to kill the [ other one ](https://gyazo.com/0e336d8b2e31179a7baa828b83445443) what hurt her so and be done with it, but she said “No, I don’t even want to look at him”; as if letting him live wouldn’t make her indiscretion all the more clear-! ...Your Madam, being a cowardly little shit in the end, won’t be able to explain it to anyone; but I’m not so bound up in regret or heartache. Portgas D. Rouge was a cruel, selfish woman; she did what she wanted to do, when she wanted to do it, and to hell with the consequences. And if she could have someone else do what she should have done herself- so much the better,” snarled Granuna suddenly. I was wondering how long she could bear to wait- she never did approve of Harry Morgan pursuing Portgas D. Rouge as a love-match, or any other kind of partner.

I can’t say I blame her.

 

Granuna is on a roll, now. Best let her get it out, she’s been sitting on this for years.

“She wanted Morgan? She took Morgan. She wanted Roger? She took Roger. And when Morgan, rightly, left Rouge to Roger... what, she expected my granddaughter to drop her Honor, roll over on her Pride and simply crawl back? To a woman that didn’t love her as she deserved, and couldn’t keep the lies that fell from her forked tongue straight? -Blast and damnation, she should have picked Ravelle! Harry Morgan _should have_ picked Ravelle… Ach, I’m sorry. It’s been pissing me off for years, how all this fell to pieces on you and your brothers. Simply- I’ve never been quite so disappointed in my kin. Never.”

“...Neither have I, really. I- I look almost exactly like Rouge, don’t I?”

“Aye.”

“I figured. …God, I can’t- I can’t stand it! I can’t stand looking like such an awful person! D’you know, she left- she left Sooty Ravelle to run the Docks, which was **_her_** **_job!_** She left a- she left a fucking _weaponsmith_ , who just wanted to be left alone in her forge and, and- Hell’s Bells of **_Fire,_** even when I had to take up duties as Heir to the Throne, I still made the fucking time to make sure that whoever would be in charge of **my** Office would be capable of doing the damn job! Fuck! I don’t- For that alone, I would hate her, but she broke her Oaths, too! Fuck! And then- what did she expect would happen!? _Honor_ is _fucking_ **_binding_** and Oaths have _consequences_ when they’re broken- you can’t- you can’t just _break a contract_ and not have repercussions! That’s- that is stupid! Rouge was so stupid! All she had to fucking do was talk to her lover of ten years and- fucking- fuck!”

I’m heaving, not quite screeching or seething, but god in heaven I want to tear something to pieces. My wings rattle and buzz against my back, before finally coming to rest. Hot, wet, anger drips down my face and sizzles on the table.

 

“I don’t understand why she disavowed Morgan- why, after ten years together, Morgan just wasn’t good enough for her. -and of course, she’s dead; and the only person who can deal with her, and Roger, and Morgan’s stupid, _stupid,_ **_bullshite_** **_mess-_** is me. Hip-hip hurrah for the monster-daughter! Hurrah for the Queen of Maggots…!” I glare into my cup before downing it.

I remember why I’m called the Queen of Maggots now.

 

“...Ach, Mab. You are, indeed, the only living person who has a right to tell your Lost Brother, Portgas D. Ace Ariel Morgan, whose Name appeared on the Birthing Stone but whose Body was never seen- you are the only one who knows everything, has the right to tell him, and, most importantly of all, _will_ tell him without filling his heart with the poison of hatred. -because you, my dear… your nature is so sweet, you hardly hate anyone- not the cold, dead, grudging hatred that lasts beyond the grave. Even when you are entitled to it. Even when you should.”

“Aye. I know. I could hate Rouge for what she did to Sooty Ravelle, her only sister- but I don’t. Mostly, I’m just sad and frustrated about how things have gone- and she doesn’t complain about her job, I don’t think. Really, it’s her wife Tzipporah that runs the Docks, not her…”

“Aye, that is so. Now that it’s all clear in your mind -I don’t mind telling _you_ this, dear girl- I’ve considered making a physical record of it all for years now, and with the knowledge that the Lost Boy yet Lives, I’ll make more copies- one for you, one for him, one for his pact brothers. I doubt anyone took the time to tell him the truth of things, the fools.”

“I suppose- though it’s really not my place to tell him such?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean- the Dead’s place is anywhere they please. Or- in this case, as I am still the Ruler of Hell- anywhere I tell them to be. Besides, as the only blood kin that boy has left that isn’t _insane_ with some manner of Sentiment, you’re the only one who can.”

“...My sire isn’t Gol D. Roger, I know it isn’t.”

“Of course it isn’t Gol D. Roger, the man couldn’t find a clitoris with a map, a navigator, and the clitoris itself barking and whining at him! No, your sire is that Bluebeak boy, Aokiji! I told Morgan to kill him, but she got her silly heart broken again and would not look at him, and by the time she realized you and that- _monster-_ were growing inside her, well, Selfish Rouge had run off into a place she could not follow. And Roger, of course, was dying- and she made that _stupid_ , **_stupid_** Promise to him, on his deathbed, and you **_know_** Promises made to those that are actively dying must be upheld lest your Honor and your family’s Honor be lost forever-”

“Aye. And then, of course, by the time she realized what her Deadman’s Promise would have her do… It was too late. It was far, far too late. -How, then, am I related to Portgas D. Ace-?”

“You had more than one dam, silly girlchick! You’re two thirds related by blood, as you are a… I am sorry there’s no better way to say what you are, my dear girl. It was never so awful in my Time, to be-”

“-That’s enough. I think you’ve explained things quite enough.”

“...Running away won’t change it, Mab. Your mother and mama and- that boy, Roger- were married, but not your mother and mama to your sire; thus, you are a bastard child. Though Morgan was smart enough to give you her Name, and Ravelle, being the elder, gave you hers- you are not unwanted, never that... It’s still obvious to anyone with eyes exactly what you are. For god’s sake, Harri Morgan has hair like blood and fire! Her skin is pale as milk! You look nothing like the rest of your sisters, or Roger, at all! You’re no fool- you knew you were different when you were a toddling chick fresh from the nest! Ach, why she never just told you straight out, why she could not be honest with you, or your brother, or that- that _monster_ \- and of course you had to learn from those foppish _whingers_ in Court who tried to make you feel lesser for something wholly out of your control…!”

“...it would have been better if I was told all this from the start; told why I was different. Why I was never enough. Much might have been different.”

“Perhaps. And perhaps it would have all been exactly the same, or even worse. It’s quite too late now, either way,” sneered Granuna. Of all my relatives, I think I take after her the most. “-Ah, I’ve stayed far longer than I meant to- But, before I go; I’ll leave the things I’ve promised out in your entrance hall- but before that, I’ll have a hug from my adorable grandchildren and their lovely crewmates.”

“Yes Granuna.”

And I hug my great-grandmother.

She didn’t say anything I didn’t already know, and I do love her- she’s never raised a fist to me and called it love, nor has she ever lied to me or tried to cut my heart out with her words. She’s harsh, but Fair- and that’s really all I can ask for. Honest, kind, generous, joyful, loyal, friendly, hopeful- these are the traits she embodies. I can only hope to one day be as the Reaper herself is; for all the horror of her presence, it’s very easy to greet Death’s Rider as a friend.

 

(What need have the Dead for Lies? None at all, actually. And so when I asked Granuna “Did Mama Rouge love me?”, she answered “No, dear girl. Your _fenna_ Ravelle did.” Only I don’t think I could say _fenna_ yet, so I called her my _fauna_ \- Portgas D. Alberich “Sooty” Ravelle. -I miss… I miss my mom.)

 

Hugging Granuna is just as comforting and terrifying as I remember.

She smells like rotting battlefields and alcohol and molasses and plum blossoms. Her skin is soft and warm and scratchy where the scarring is thickest. Her wings make me feel safe, like when I’m warm in my husband’s arms, but smothered, like I’m under the shroud of my own grave. Oh, she’s wearing underwear, how nice- they’re tiger stripe printed, high waisted affairs, made of some kind of cotton blend. Aside from the breasts and the hair, there’s really no indication for how old my Grana Una actually is.

Is she thirty?

Is she three hundred?

_I don’t know._

_I don’t want to know._

_I don’t even want to know how many husbands she wore out after Udoroth died in battle, probably the one that lost her the leg. But the answer is_ **_more than you think it is. No, more than that. More._ **

 

She hugs Sanji, who looks a bit- dazed, when she lets him go.

She hugs Robin, who leans into the hug, gets nuzzled with my Grana Una’s feathers.

She hugs Chopper, who squeals in a mixture of terror and embarrassment.

She hugs Usopp, who hugs her back, sharp eyes streaming with tears.

She hugs Nami, who looks terribly conflicted- when my grandmother sets her down, she pulls a bar of gold from behind Nami’s ear. (Being a cherumib never stopped my Grana Una from learning **all** the Tricks.) Nami is now cuddling the bar of gold like it’s her own newborn child. Nami is silly.

She glides over to the couch, tiger-print covered ass swaying like a cat’s tail flicks - _left -right -left -right_ -before she scoops up each of the Kids and gives them a warm, gentle, terrifying hug.

Loops around to Zoro- hugs the drunkenness right out of him which is it’s own brand of horror. (Nami is silly because she could be cuddling Zoro, but I’ll wait a bit for that to come to it’s own conclusions.)

Captain she scoops up with both hands, hugs with such infinite gentleness; she presses a sweet kiss into his forehead, sets him on his feet and holds his cheeks in her hands; smiles down on him with an implacable, unrelenting, horrifying benevolence. Her smile hardens into something fierce and dangerous, dreadful and dreaded and bright like the darkness between stars.

 

“I want you to know- all of you, but **you** especially, newest grandson, that your old Granuna is **_absolutely proud of you all_ ** for following your Dreams. I look forward to seeing what kind of King you become, Little Prince of the Waves.”

 

Then she tucked Captain’s hat on his head as he giggled a bit helplessly.

Granuna has that effect sometimes- but also that’s just Captain.

Now that I’ve seen her again, I realize I’m carved in the likeness of my Granuna. Which is both alarming and comforting. Hmm.

She walks out with the careless predatory grace of a hunting creature- some massive cat, some red-clawed bird, some sharp toothed fish or rotund bear; when she turns into the empty space of the hallway, she vanishes from my sight. There is a great sound, like onrushing wings.

And then Granuna is gone.

 

“Neh- I never had a Granauna before. She’s- nice. Scary, but- nice.” said Luffy.

“Yes. Yes, she is. And she left the rum, too.” I said.

“...She’s better than Shitty Gramps at least.” he said and shuddered as he said shitty gramps. Hmm.

  


It’s funny- I hadn’t realized I was carved in Granuna’s image so clearly. Little things- the shade of my hair is hers when blackened with youth, the boiling rage held tightly against our bones, the observant needle pricks of our gazes- ow. Really? Okay- she left the cups and the booze and my tools- Oh. I remember why I made this turtle now. (I remember why I was so critical of Ace. It’s nothing to do with him at all. It’s not really to do with Spadey, either- ow- it’s to do with _Rouge._ Who is Spadey? OW ow ow ow.)

First cue first, Mab.

 

“Here, I made this for you a long time ago.”

“Huh? Oh- it’s… for me, really?”

“Yeah. Um. It’s a little late but- that’s one of the first things I ever made. So. Um. You don’t have to keep it or anything, but- it’s nice to finally be able to give it to you.”

 

And Sanji’s mouth tilts up into a smile. The broad red stripe that stretches from very nearly his ear to his other ear, cleanly covering the bridge of his nose crinkles- Oh! Mirror, mirror, where’s the- yes, right there, my [ hand mirror ](http://i.imgur.com/NcXEDk3.jpg)… that Granuna gave me. Hm. I might have to get a new one. Still- I know that mark. I know it. We call it- Udoroth’s mark, maybe? No, it’s- stripe- Sanji needs to see it.

 

“Hey, um- take a look in the mirror, Sanji-love.”

 

He takes the mirror and glances in it- then freezes. Squeezes the stuffed turtle I made for him with a one-two-three beat. Hands the mirror back to me. His eyes are- hm. I know. Buzzing black, the sensation of- wind- and the world suddenly goes about three tones brighter. I put my glasses on top of my head, stare intently at Sanji. He blinks at me, then smiles with half of his mouth.

Oh there it is, there’s the booze.

 

Zoro sits like his body is made of clay, like his bones are metal; his eyes flash with fires from the very heart of the world. He has three heads and six arms, three per side, and three torsos too. Delicate flower petals slowly rise and fall from Robins skin in the rippling heaves of a nesting serpent; she smells like the rustle of paper and thick drifts of alfalfa hay and clover. A line starting under Nami’s nose and running down her chin, down her throat, black smudge across her nose and curving curving across her cheeks are three slim lines- like a cat; her hair is full of orange blossoms. Chopper is covered in snow, and… looks different. Less deer, more man- a melding of the two in ways it hurts my eyes to look at so I turn away and-

Usopp has the hooded markings of a hawk, or- no, the markings of some deadly [ hunting cat ](http://cdn.pcwallart.com/images/baby-cheetah-face-wallpaper-1.jpg), swift of foot and sharp of eye. Sharp of eye, sharp of eye- where have I heard that before…?

Taffy shoves herself across the floor in her underwear and skin shirt, scraping her back with every kick. Luffy and Bryony are cuddling, out cold on the couch.

Mark is slowly swaying and moving his- his arms, his hips, his chest and his feet. My fingers rattle out a slow and steady beat; through the dark balcony window, spars of moonlight pierce the hazy room. My bugs hum a dancing tune from the balcony- you know what? Fuck it.

I leave my sandals under the table and open the balcony doors- take Mark by the hand and go dancing in the many-full moonlight.

 

The world blurs.

  
(Somewhere in the distance, a chorus of sea birds sings through the haze of night. ‘ _What a bunch of morons,’_ they croon to the moonlit world. What a bunch of morons indeed.)


	17. Got Drunk; Got Hungover; Got Humanity

_ Peaceful Calm is attained when all four humors are in reasonable balance. Though the humors do fluctuate during the Wheel’s turnings, there can be upset. Once one of the humors overwhelms the others, an unbalanced Mage is the result. This is to be avoided.  _

_ This spell is meant to reduce *Bile. _

 

_ The Spell for Peaceful Calm is cast thus:  _

_ Gathering a handful of stones of the appropriate size, upon a cloudless full-moons night, the caster must take their stones into the out-of-doors and ascend to the highest natural location they can find. _

_ Once there, they must, with great vitriol, scream obscenities at the moons. They must scream their obscenities whilst shaking both fists, and scream louder, fouler, more horrifying obscenities at the moons as the night ages.  _

_ For those menstruating, it is particularly important to chant a Litany of Bile at the Bloody Haired Moon, as it is responsible for all uterine cramps, most bloating, and some fatigue.  _

_ For those with penises, it is important to chant a Litany of Bile at the Rising Moon, as it is responsible for all penile erections, most ejaculations, and some fatigue.  _

_ For those without gender, it is important to chant a Litany of Bile at the Combing Moon, as it is responsible for all bodily dysmorphia, most sexual confusion, and some fatigue. _

_ Then, when all moons have been screamed at equally, the caster must take their gathered stones and hurl them with great force and aim at the offensive Space Eggs; one stone per. Shouting “FUCK OFF SPACE EGGS” whilst throwing the stones is traditional, but any sufficiently enraged Bilious Shout is appropriate. _

_ The caster shall repeat the Ritual Expulsion of Bile until the sun has risen again, or they have run out of stones. _

 

_ Notes and Warnings about this spell: _

_ This spell is most effectively cast during the nights between (or during) Mabon and Samhain or Ostara and Beltane, as these nights are when all of the nine moons are visible in the sky at some time during the night.  _

_ It is best if the caster is experiencing an overwhelming flush of the Hot Yellow Bile prior to the casting of this spell, although it is not required.  _

_ This spell is fairly simple, and can be cast by anyone- even those uninitiated in the Magical Arts. If you cannot find a high natural location, the nearest cliff, high wall, tall building, local harbor, lake shore, or river bank is also appropriate. _

_ IF YOU ARE CASTING THIS SPELL IN AN URBANIZED AREA, PLEASE BE AWARE THAT YOU MIGHT NOT BE THE ONLY CASTER SO AFFLICTED WITH YELLOW BILE. _

_ *This spell is not very effective on Cold Black Bile- an overwhelming flush of Melancholia cannot be treated with a quick-fix spell. However, a Litany of Self-Affirmation can at least start the process of shedding some of the excess Cold Black Bile, as can increased physical exercise. If the Melancholia starts to creep in, do not wait- refer yourself to a professional Counselor at once! _

  
  
  


**FUCK THE SUN, ACCURSED SPACE EGG YOLK FUCKER** \- ow, yelling bad. 

yelling bad. 

yelling bad.

-I think I hit myself in the head with rocks last night. Fucking Space Eggs.

 

I came to in a- shipyard? Why am I in a shipyard- wait, is this Dock One?

Nevermind that shit-

**_Where are my pants?_ **

I’m wearing what I wore yesterday but seriously where are my pants, I was- these are not all the clothes I was wearing yesterday.  

- **This** is why I don’t drink with my Granny and go dancing in the moonlight! 

Now I remember, I- FUCK, THAT WAS MY HEAD- ow, ow, ow, yelling still bad, yelling still bad.

yelling is still bad ow fuck.

 

 

I sit up slowly this time, carefully wiggling out from under the bench. I press a hand to the throbbing spot on my skull, and pull away clean fingertips. I’m not concussed, I just really hit my head a good one- ow, ow fuck. My mouth feeling like raspy sandpaper and suffering. My buglace is still on, but faint with- no, I left it at the hotel- there’s actually nothing around my neck except some cockroaches, which I peel away with careful fingers. Yes, yes, I was very upset last night- yes, thank you for looking after me. I love you too, tiny brown water beetles.

 

Oh, there’s Captain. 

Maybe he knows-?

 

“Hey Captain- have you seen my pants?”

“Nope, sorry Mab. Oh, yeah- after breakfast, we’re making the list for our new ship so Franky can make it for us and add all the stuff we want.”

“Okay- I’ll try and find my pants before then. Where the hell are they…?” I said to myself.

Captain had ambled off by that point, and I was left; shoeless, pantsless, and hungover- in the steadily waking up courtyard of Dock One. It’s not a courtyard, it’s a- I’ve forgotten the word. Fuck it.

Maybe they’re here-?

 

I wasn’t able to find my pants in the shipyard. 

I _was_ able to wave briefly at a nervous looking Sevy, who waved back and looked a great deal more composed for having seen me. 

It’s nice to do good for people’s mental wellbeing.

 

 

 

Back at the hotel, I found my pants hanging cheerfully from our balcony- a still sleeping Mark hung listlessly over the railing, right next to them. 

So that’s where they went! 

 

I flew up, and landed gracefully on the tiled floor; slipped my overalls back on; and carried Mark inside to lay on the couch. Zoro and Usopp were tangled together in a comfort pile with Chopper and Bryony, all of them spilling off the cushioned seat. I know just how to prod and poke to make a space just large enough for a slim boychick to be tucked in amongst his fellows- so I did. Zoro curled around Mark and Usopp with barely a grumble. I packed away my tools, wiped the table down, and moved my tools to my work crate; leaned my spear against the wall, rinsed out the mugs, put the gourd of terrible booze far back on top of the fridge.

I’ve already taken too many chances with this shit.

 

Taffy tilted with a bit less of the usual land-drunk sway on a kitchen stool- she’s tired, poor thing- as Sanji sat next to her, his head pillowed on his arms, his arms on the counter. Luffy is steadily eating a full rasher-stack of bacon, a pan of eggs, and a medium bowl of fruit. He’s also hung over, but he has more or less the right idea.

 

Robin is curled up in the armchair, her long hair strewn with flower petals, quietly composing a list of questions in her journal. And Nami cooked I guess. 

 

-Wait, how did Luffy get back so quickly? Nevermind, there are some things I’m just not meant to know.

Check on Sanji, Mab.

 

“...Sanji-love? Sanji? ...sanji?”

“...I look like him...”

“...”

“I look like Udoroth, Demonlord of the Smoking Vine.”

 

I take my glasses off, tuck them into the collar of my shirt, and remember how to do this Trick. It’s more- Memoria, not quite Trick, not quite Transformation. And then my hair falls bright and red down my back, soft waves of firey, bloody red in the light. I touch his face between his folded arms- he turns to me, and looks. The sharp inhale is all I need.

 

“I look like Granuna. You are carved in the image of your ancestors- and so am I. You’re not him- I’m not her. And I still love you, so...” I say, shrugging.

I let the Trick go; my own short black curly-kinky hair reasserts itself.

I smile softly, rub my thumb over the red stripe that is carved into Sanji’s face- then I find the thread of my Granuna’s Trick, and snap it. It doesn’t fade, exactly- it’s just not being held to the surface anymore. It was always there- certain Tricks have to have things already present to work, and this is one of them. If he wasn’t carved in the image of Udoroth, he could not have the Norten Stripe across his face, because that was Udoroth’s mark. As I recall, Udoroth’s mark was a great deal more… organic. Sanji’s mark is a simple smooth edged wide-tape stripe across his face. I want to kiss it.

I’m gonna kiss it.

I buss my lips across the broad stripe of ancestral red on his face, and smile at him. He smiles back, softly.

Then I toss Nami a fat stack of beri. She catches it out of the air with her sharp cat-burglar reflexes, and immediately begins counting it.

 

“I love you too, Mab.”

“Mm. What do you want for breakfast, Sanji-love?”

“Um.”

I Look at him.

“...Something good for this hangover. Your granny does not play around with her booze.”

“No, she does not. ...How about… chirashi with miso soup; genmaicha to drink?”

“...Really?”

“Mhm.”

“Sure, sounds good.”

“Okay. Nami, take a seat- I’m cooking now.”

  
  


So. Chirashi is sashimi over rice, pretty much; set six cups of rice to cook in the rice cooker. Set kettle to boil. In the fridge we have duck eggs, tuna, salmon, shrimp, scallions, takuan, beni shoga, shibazuke, kyurizuke, fukujinzuke, and my own favorite bread and butter pickles. Set the pickles out in their own bowls- serving family style. They taste best when they’ve had a chance to bloom out, warm up- let their flavors warm up and get excited. Take the eggs out too, I like eggs with chirashi- I know, I know, it’s not terribly traditional, but I do!

Cut nori into rectangles with scissors, reserve some for furikake. Wipe scissors. Set water for miso to simmer; add nori. Set two dry skillets- the square one is for omlette eggs; actually, the rolled kind- to medium low, cover in thin layer of sesame seeds and brown rice;  _ shakka-shakka-shakka.  _

Rice toasted- smells warm, nutty. Leave to cool on a plate. Wipe out pan and set aside on trivet. 

_ Shakka-shakka-shakka.  _

Carefully crack each duck egg into a smaller bowl, check for shell, then put each approved egg into a larger bowl. I’ll make enough for everyone I suppose. Really thrash the shit out of these eggs, I want that protein broken down.

_ Shakka-shakka-shakka.  _

It’s not rice yet. 

Sesame seeds toasted; stir in sea salt and leave to cool in a bowl. Wipe out pan and return to heat. Put in pat of butter- it’s cold so let it melt; raise to medium high. Move eggs to ready position, rinse whisk in sink and set on dirty side, come back with appropriate sized ladle and cooking chopsticks.

White Miso paste, whisk smooth in water and stir into simmering soup. Thin slice scallion.

Ladle eggs into greasy medium hot pan and let them cook, lowering pan to medium immediately.

Sanji is setting out bowls for me.

 

“Behind, kiss.”

“Kiss kiss.”

 

I press a kiss to his cheek as I pass- he leans into it for a second, then starts serving the miso to our blearily awake crewmates. 

Rice is cooked. Pour it out into a clean pan,  _ thwop-thwop-thwop _ with a paddle to help it cool faster. Sanji is slicing the fish now. Check eggs, lower heat so no browning on bottom, not what I want.

 

“Behind, sharp sharp sharp-”

“Eggs two out-”

“Behind, plates-”

 

I guess we’re cooking together. 

 

Slice nori into cooled sesame seeds; slice bonito into sesame seeds; toss to combine.  _ Sha-sha-sha. _ Pour it into a bowl and set at the ready. Saute the shrimp- ksss. Sanji presses a kiss to my cheek before gently nudging me out of the way- I lean into the kiss and step aside. He checks the eggs and starts folding them over. I set out a serving plate for the eggs and Sanji grins.

 

“Behind, hot-”

“Cherrymix two out-”

 

Go to the rice; add three cups of rice wine vinegar, untoasted sesame seeds, furikake; mix thoroughly. Sanji finishes the shrimp, leaves them to rest, takes a bowl of miso and drinks it down.

Shrimp are cooled, dice them. Pull out the biggest mixing bowl we have- changed my mind, third biggest. 

_ Clung! _ Everyone winces, but I stopped it before it could be too loud.

 

Transfer rice, mix in all the chirashi ingredients- except the pickled things, leave those to the side.

Tea-water is ready. Genmaicha ratio is three to one in rice’s favor; take the green tea, measure everything into a sieve, set it in a teapot; pour the boiling hot water over the tea. 

 

“Behind-”

“Leju four out-”

 

Four tablespoons of tea; twelve of rice. Steep. Steep. Steep. Remove the tea, move the pot to the table. 

 

“Behind, hot hot hot-”

 

Serve everyone a mug of hot genmaicha. 

Sanji hands off the family style bowl of chirashi to me, carries a stack of rice bowls and a cup full of plain chopsticks; spoons rattle and jingle in the bowl. I grab the miso with it’s ladle; and we set everything out on the table. I grab the pickles and set them out too; Sanji dishes out the chirashi and hands them around the table.

Everyone is very quiet while they eat. I walk behind each person and snap their Trick-threads before sitting across from Sanji and eating breakfast. I finish my meal quickly, and carry all my dishes to the kitchen.

 

It’s been awhile since I cooked with a professional; I hope my jargon wasn’t too outdated or hard to understand. I catch Sanji’s eye, tilt my head in question- he smiles, and shrugs, and wobbles his hand ‘so-so’. ‘ah, I can live with that’, I shrug back- I’m really not a cook, after all, I just know how and have worked as a professional cook before.

I mean, I admit it- I’ve never been any good at being anything other than myself. With that said- a Mariner must be able to do anything, or at the very least, convince someone who actually  _ can _ do what the Mariner is pretending at that they are, in fact, competent- well, I’ve no real natural charisma to speak of, I can only convince people of things they already want to believe. Even the slightest suspicion in an illusion- from an inelegant caster, like me- will make it falter. 

So- I cheated a bit, with Asteria-sama, Mrs. Lilac, Mrs. Rose, Granuna, Danelphe- anyone who was willing to teach me, really- I cheated, and actually became able to do almost anything. Because I can’t act like I’m more than what I am- so I became more, and thus… I didn’t have to.

Which is a convoluted way of saying that before I learned midwifery and found sewing... I tried and became if not good, at least competent, at a very broad number of skills: benign, malicious, mercenary, and gift.

So.

  
  


Anyway, Taffy needs to be flensed. Her wing claws are already poking through the soft thin skin of her shoulders. I’ll use one of my obsidian knives to shave away the excess skin; comb for the feathers. Go to my tools, grab the sharp black knife with the smooth smooth hilt; one of the long handled combs with a wide, nippy edge to it. 

Tuck the razor into my belt loop. 

Grab the trashcan and set it  _ just so _ . 

Take another stool and put a half full bowl of water on’t. 

 

Taffy bolted her food and is still swaying blearily- tug her stool back from the table just enough that her wings won’t hit anyone, and press three knuckles right at the base of her spine. Run my knuckles up her back and use the other hand to make the arch pronounced. Her wings cleave through the thin, callus-dead skin, arching into the air sharply and releasing the smell of freshly laundered cotton sheets. Mmm. 

Starchy.

 

Black claws out but dulled, they’ll sharpen up; pull the big chunks of skin away and throw them in the trash; while all her feathers are still clumped together, take the knife and shave the dead skin clear of her back. Put the peelings into the trash. 

Knife gets holstered; start massaging the wings. 

 

This first round of preening is instinctual for her to follow- once the blood starts flowing, she’ll be able to follow the cues I give her actively, and of course I’ll talk her through the next one. Start combing at the very base- dip the tines in water and swipe them through the soft flock. Whole chunks of downy baby feathers lift away, to be dropped neatly into the trashcan. Dip again, and move to the left wing- move to the right. Tug broken feathers free in quick neat little pinches, tug the tines of the comb against her skin until the red red blood rises up to the surface. Time to arrange. Switch-flip the comb- the long spine use is: dip in water and zujsh the feathers into place. 

 

_ Shaja-shaja-shaja-shaja-shaja-shaja-shaja. _

_ Shaja-shaja-shaja-shaja-shaja-shaja-shaja. _

 

Step back, look over everything- her claws are fine as is, feathers are arranged- yep. 

All good. 

As for color, now that they’re combed, neatened, and drying sleek- they’re a cross between a  [ gyrfalcon’s ](https://photos.smugmug.com/Galleries/Birds-of-Prey/Falcons/Gyrfalcons/i-LrDjgkW/1/L/2008-12-28_12-21-49-Edit-L.jpg) rippling black and white, and a  [ hoatzin’s  ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/19/9a/1b/199a1b7b8019c580a683e6aff85eb901.jpg) coloration- but it’s only the topside. The posterior has that red wash near the tip; anterior is the rippling waves of black and white. And that’s that sorted.

 

Put the trashcan back, rinse the bowl, rinse and dry the tools, put the chair back; Taffy is standing and just- not swaying. Her wings are moving, but her body is still. I wash the knife and comb and dry them and watch as her wings still. Taffy is standing still.

Taffy is smiling. 

Hmhmhm. I remember that.

 

“If you want to practice for flying, go out on the balcony and flap.”

“Yis!”

 

And off she trots- still a little wobbly because she still doesn’t have land legs, exactly- but now she can at least walk around without tipping herself over. Big wings for a big girl-chick. Mmhm. I’ll take her to the spa… oh, tomorrow, probably.

Sanji watches her move, then nods once to himself. I grab my sketchbook from my messenger bag, the lens kit, and the canvas duffle my Granuna left. It’s big, and a bit heavy. I never asked, but the answer seems obvious now- Taffy couldn’t walk because she didn’t have all her body out and moving the way it needed to be.

 

“So… I was thinking dori shoes, but dressy wingtips might be better...” says Sanji.

“Hm. It’ll depend on the swordfighting style she uses- either way, we won’t know for sure until later, love.” I say.

“True. So- let’s see what the presents from Granny are.” he says.

 

I open the duffle- inside is a blue-cloth wrapped… ah. I hand it to Sanji. A larger, boxier bundle gets handed to Bryony; and in the bottom… The blunderbuss. I’ll have to take it apart later.

 

“This is a nice boutonniere, Mab-love.”

“Mhm. It’s also a wish for responsible fatherhood- a well wish for our marriage.”

“...Your granny is really nice, isn’t she?” says Sanji.

“Kind. She’s kind. Like me, I think maybe? I think that’s the word?”

“...Yeah. Yeah, that’s the word.” he says.

“Cool.”

“Um-  _ ouna _ Mab, what are these?” says Bryony.

“Ah, those. Syreenes wear feathers to tell everyone who knows how to read them how they’re feeling and what they’re willing to put up with- the overall code-listing for it is a bit extensive, but the rule of thumb is the more aggressive the pattern on the feather, the less the syreene is willing to put up with shit.”

“So...” she says.

“So those spotted woodpecker feathers- yeah,  [ those ](http://previews.123rf.com/images/ornitolog82/ornitolog820912/ornitolog82091200016/6109825-Flight-feathers-of-a-Great-spotted-woodpecker--Stock-Photo.jpg) \- mean your first warning is also your final warning, and after that you’re drawing blood. Aradia always wore those.”

“Oh. Um- what about these?” she says.

“Peacock feathers? They denote watchfulness- but in conjunction with other feathers- like, okay, Aradia wears peacock and spotted woodpecker together, which is a very aggressive combination. Like she’s always watching for you to test her- and her first warning is her last warning.”

“I think I get it- the more interesting the pattern, the more aggressive the message becomes?” she says.

“Yup. Go ahead and pick some out for yourself- you can wear whatever you like, really.”

“Hmm.” she says to herself.

 

“So- Sanji-love, what do you want in your new kitchen?” I say.

“Hm? Oh- the list, right. Um… Hm. Well, first I want a fridge that locks, and a deep chest freezer that locks too; better food storage, like somewhere to keep fish really fresh- like, live-fresh; a bigger pantry, a bit more prep space, a bench for the kitchen counter on the non-working side; and now that our crew’s gotten so much bigger- a larger dining area would be good. Maybe a sideboard? Ah- and everything that can be moveable should move, for ease of sanitation.” says Sanji.

“Okay. Chopper?” I say.

“I want a real fucking infirmary. You assholes get hurt so often; a shitty storage room is  _ not enough _ . Um. A distillery maybe? There’s some things I can’t really do safely otherwise...” says Chopper.

“Okay. I want a real sewing room, and a real laundry room- with machine washers and dryers for the sheets and bedding. Line dried is nice, but sometimes it rains.” I say.

Everyone nods understandingly.

 

“I still believe that machine washing clothing makes the fabric and the people who wear it weak, but dammit I’ve got shit I want to do! -so I guess I’ll be making laundry detergent as well, rather than continue on as I have been. Storage for all our cleaning supplies, storage for our old laundry supplies- some things it’s better to wash by hand, after all... Ah- I also want some dedicated wardrobe storage space- none of us wear our entire wardrobes all the time, so I don’t want things like… like winter coats taking up space they don’t have to.” I say.

“...If I’m teaching Taffy, I want a training room. Weights, pull-up bars, benches, a cooler for drinks and water... With a big mirror on the wall, too. Not traditional, but...” says Zoro.

“-Why the mirror, moss-head?” says Sanji.

“-So she can do drills on her own and see when her form needs correcting, curly-brow.” says Zoro.

Neither of them speak with any real malice. They’re actual friends now, it’s wonderful.

 

“Sensible. I’ll add in some balance equipment too- like a tightrope, or a beam. Balance is very important if you’re going to fight, or flight for that matter.” I say.

Zoro nods.

“Hm- I’d like a library very much.” says Robin.

“Mm. With nice plants to smell and squishy chairs that are comfy to sit in. Maybe a cat? It’s nice having a ship pet...” says Zoro.

“And lamps so you can really see what you’re reading.” I say.

“And desks so you can write or study if you need to!” says Nami.

“On another note- I think we should get a real garden, with a nice bench too. Nami’s orchard is pretty good, and the plants I grabbed will at least keep us from starving, but we could do much better. Vegetable patches, worms as bait, more than one kind of fruit tree, nut trees, a dovecote- even a goat or two if we can get away with the water requirements.” I say.

“...Who would be doing the farm work though?” says Usopp.

“Uh-” I say.

“Me. And while we’re on this subject, I want a shooting range.” says Mark. “...You said I’d be good with guns, right?”

“I did. Okay. I’ll make a note-” I say.

“Oh- add moving targets too, the stationary ones are only good for training for so long.” says Usopp.

“Okay- you’ll be needing good drainage as well, considering. Hmm. A music room- music is Very Important, and we’re going to get a musician anyway, we might as well have a space ready for them...” I say.

“Neh, can we get lots of cool instruments?” says Luffy.

“Of course.” I say.

“ **HELL NO MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS ARE EXPENSIVE AS SHIT.** ” snarls Nami.

“I know a guy.” I say.

“...Oh. Well. Fine then.” says Nami, deflating.

“Okay. Uh-” I say.

“H’I want the good green Vearth for the running around on and rolling on and lying on too, yis, that yis what I want. And lots of good places for the hiding and the pranking. And some nice furniture for the good green Vearth because our crew has dumbs who do not like lying direct on the good green Vearth where the Green Mother’s blessings rise up but that is okay, I am smart for them.” says Taffy. She’s come back inside and has mantled her wings much like Grana Una did; she sits gracefully on her stool.

“-And a slide!” says Luffy.

“-And a swing!” says Chopper.

“-And a comfy bench!” says Usopp.

“-And a net thingy we can swim in without worrying about sharks!” says Mark.

“Okay.” I say, dutifully writing it down.

“Okay, I have to request this. Can something be done with soundproofing or acoustics so we don’t hear Sanji and Mab every time they have sex? Because- and I can’t believe I’m saying this- Mab is really good for Sanji, and Sanji is really good for Mab, but I don’t need to hear every time they’re good to each other.” says Nami.

“Um- are we really that loud?” I say.

Sanji has hidden his face behind his hands. He’s nodding. So is everyone else.

 

“Oh. Um. I can be quieter, you’re not terribly vocal Sanji-”

“-noooooooo-” Sanji whines.

“Well, alright. I guess soundproofing? I’m not sure what can be done acoustics-wise, but if we get things soundproofed, we’ll need a full intercom-alarm system.” I say.

“Oh! Um, could we have a full communications center? I-if it’s near the music room, we could pipe music all over the ship!” says Bryony.

“...ballroom...” mumbles Sanji.

“Sanji-love, I can’t hear through your hands.” I say.

“A ballroom- or a hall for dancing. So we have a place to dance, maybe? Just- a room that’s meant for dancing. E-even a dancefloor with some benches so’s we can rest would be fine...” says Sanji.

“O-oh. Okay.” I say. I’m blushing. Sanji is blushing.

“ **SOUND PROOFING FOR THE LOVE OF GOD** .” barks Nami.

“I’m underlining it twice, Nami.” I say.

“Um- so could I have some kind of… some kind of area just for the Snails? You always took care of me, Mab, but- but I think I want a nice enclosure, w-with lots of water and veggies and sunshine, a-and places for all the phone rigs, a-and we got a white-shell and a black-shell in addition to just a regular phone-snail, and black-shells aren’t very nice-” babbles Bryony.

“We’ll get everything they can put in a communications hub. The most humane we can get.” I say.

“Okay. Thank you.” says Bryony.

“Of course.” I say.

“Also, please god let us get a helm that isn’t a whipstaff and shouting at the lines. It worked, it certainly worked- but, um. Please let’s get something better.” says Bryony.

“God yes.” “Yis, yis, yis, please yis.” “Mmmhm.” say Nami, Taffy, and Mark.

“Noted.” I say.

“Oh! A bath-house! Like in Alabasta, remember?” says Nami.

“Yes- oh, and instead of having the toilet and the bathing area in the same room, we could separate them. That way, when someone has to poop and someone else has to bathe, no one has to wait!” I say.

“And… if you want a full-on garden-orchard-farm- _ thing, _ I want an observatory with stuff for stargazing and weather watching. With- uh, with desks that don’t have to be out all the time? But I want to be able to keep my stuff where it is on the desk too...” says Nami.

“Oh- actually, it might be an idea to make it part of the library? That way, we can justify making the library exist on multiple decks.” says Robin.

“...Neh, could we get bigger dorms? It’s nice sleeping near everyone, but- we need bigger dorms.” Everyone nods, me included. “We could get better generators and water pumps too- the bicycle pump system worked okay, but my legs got tired. We should keep it as a backup maybe?” says Luffy.

“Sounds good- anything else?” I say.

 

A moment of silence as everyone tries to think of something. I nod once.

 

“Okay- so, I guess… the only thing left to add will be stuff for our shipwright. Oh! Which reminds me- Luffy, have you told our shipwright he’s our shipwright yet?”

“Nope!”

I nod.

 

“I’ll make a note for the shipwright to add whatever he feels necessary- maybe tell him when you give him the list?”

“Hehe, yeah!”

“So, before that- you’re Captain, you check the list.”

Luffy pauses and shudders. He Looks at me. I Look at him.

 

“The only reason for you not to read is because you don’t want to, not because you can’t.”

“...but the letters swim and run, and the paper is so bright, and-”

“I have an idea about how to fix that. Do you want to try it?”

“Um. ...Miss Makino tried for years to teach me, and it never worked.”

“Mhm.” 

I keep Looking at him.

 

“...Fine. It’s not going to work, though.”

I nod solemnly.

It might not work, but- it also might actually work just fine.

I pull out the Irlen lens kit. It’s an extensive kit, with a full set of reading rulers- the five major colors, with clear standing in for white. I pass Luffy the list, and the  [ reading rulers ](http://dyslexiasupportservices.com.au/images/ReadingRulersToAccompanyMain.JPG) , and give him the very simple instructions.

 

“If it’s going to work at all, we’ll know right away- use those to try and see the words clearly.”

“Okay.”

 

He takes the rulers, and starts looking through them at the list. And then- he takes the magenta one and presses it against the page. Closes one eye and- starts to read. I take out the magenta lens set- plain magenta, and all the combinations. There are really only five colors- twenty five combinations total, but only five in this set. All of them are fully reversible.

 

“So- leftie eye-eye likes magenta?”

“Yeah!”

“What about rightie?”

“Um.”

“...You do need both eyes to read, Luffy.”

 

He switches eyes- and immediately finds rightie likes celery and cyan. Okay. I clip a magenta lens into the left frame, and a celery-cyan into the right. Then I hand the glasses to Luffy.

 

“Try those.”

“Uh- Uah! It- ow, no, rightie said no.”

“Hand ‘em back.”

I flip the right lens.

 

“Now try.”

“I-” And then he’s very quiet. 

He takes the clear reading ruler and puts it on the list.

 

And then- “C-could I have a pen?”

“Here.”

 

He writes something on the list and smiles.

I hand him a case for his glasses.

He takes it, blinks, then puts his glasses in the case.

I nod once. He grins and giggles - _ Shishishishishishishishishishishishishishi _ \- and then he says “Okay! Nami, grab the money- Zoro, you come too. Let’s go get our new ship and our shipwright!”

 

And then in a whirlwind of movement, the three of them are gone. Everyone is staring at me with shining eyes. Sanji is smiling at me. 

I don’t understand why, it’s not like I’d have done anything else... 

I put the lenses away, put the reading rulers back in their sleeve with the case of lenses; leave the clear one out.

  
  


Now for that blunderbuss.

My granny’s  [ blunderbuss ](http://img13.deviantart.net/8ce6/i/2011/224/1/5/beluga_handcannon_by_dfacto-d46bnd6.jpg) is properly called a Beluga Water Cannon. It’s a handheld device that came about during the Second Conquest of the North as a method of destroying ships without using fire, which was, at the time, too rare a Dial to weaponize. Heat Dials had not yet been cultivated in enough numbers to field blast weapons with; Wet Dials have been ubiquitous in Sky Blue since time immemorial. So. Water blaster.

There’s a wide crack running through the wood; I’ll have to replace it. The gun shouldn’t be loaded, but just in case- crack the barrel, double check- no, empty. Good. There’s an Impact Dial connected to the trigger; a special rig that transfers the force of the Dial through the barrel as the trigger’s firing pin releases a large amount of water. The whole thing then shoves water in a massive whomp sounding thrush, sufficient to destroy the hull of a ship or kill a whole battalion of men.

 

It was meant to be used and reused- the metal, being metal, is significantly stronger than the wood was, and after being imbued with pyrobloin, the metal itself is unbreakable. It’s still workable- but unbreakable. The wood is simple mahogany, and while it could withstand the forces exerted on it by the gun, it could not withstand being used as a bludgeon for long. Long enough during my Grana Una’s campaigning, but not long after that.

The muzzle construction is brass over copper over glass- red brass and gloss; that’ll be a bit of a pain to recreate. Within the metal gun stock there is an empty brass ring- this ring is actually a funnel. When placed into a water source, and the trigger pulled forwards, the internal mechanisms refill the large Wet Dial, preparing the gun for firing. Gunmetal steel hinge; that’s where most of the weight of the gun actually is. I’ll have to modify a bevy of Wet Dials for ammunition, make a pack for the ammo, holsters for the guns, and teach Mark to use them. Hmm. Ammo Discipline- Mark isn’t a sniper like Usopp, he’s a gunner, there’s a very different mentality...

  
  


First cue first, Mab.

 

Draw what the gun looks like as it is; draw it as it should be. 

Take a break, eat the sandwich Sanji-love brings. Mm. Fish sandwich. Nomnomnom. 

Draw what the gunbelt is going to look like from the  [ front ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/51/84/82/51848270cae15d61c59da91caf887a50.jpg) ; secondary belt for the ammo pouch?  [ Braces ](https://www.loggingsupply.com/wp-content/uploads/faller-x-back.jpg) for weight distribution; unfashionable but possibly necessary during a long battle. Draw the  [ pouch ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/70/c4/22/70c422ef0d4a924eb2ee8b0715970ec3.jpg) ; and the  [ inside ](https://www.militaryuniformsupply.com/files/46SHOTMC-raine-black-shotgun-shell-ammo-pouch.jpg) of the pouch ought to have enough carrying capacity to ensure serious battle can be entertained. As I recall, each shell for the Beluga‘buss carries six shots; the actual firing power is created by slamming the gun into things- people, walls, smacking it against your thigh while you run, reloading it at speed, and so on. The entire gun is dishonored- I can’t use any piece of it to make Mark’s weapons. (It was either the battle that lost Granny her leg, or in a fight with Udoroth, I don’t know for sure.)

Consider the materials for the new blunderbusses; Adam wood for the grips, two impact dials, red brass muzzle, pure copper funnel, pyrobloin-gloss sheath internal, gunmetal hinge; abalone-shell style ammunition. I still have lots of the tree sap Conis sent; when vulcanized, it makes a perfect seal for this sort of build. Oil for the wood- boiled tung oil, will finish in a sort of golden tint.

 

Taffy needs a swordbelt- simpler, but no less important. The reason I think Taffy will want formal or semi-formal clothing is pretty simple- Sanji-love is her favorite. Even when part of her was just a cloudfox, she loved Sanji the most- she’d follow him around, she’d dance around his feet; when we’d go to bed, Taffy would curl up behind his knees. So- long pants, white shirt, dark jacket, fancy shoes;  [ double wrap sword belt ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/58/63/74/5863740aa14648733aa16db96d9bf0ad.jpg) . It’ll work for a variety of styles, and look quite fetching besides- although with Zoro teaching her how to sword, she might prefer his use of  _ sageo _ and haramaki? No, Taffy’s probably never going to wear a haramaki unless she’s pregnant- but… I’ll wait and see for the belt.

 

As for Bryony- hmm. I’ll teach her how to wrap her hands and feet for fighting- depending on how that goes, she might end up with a pair of gloves. I doubt it- she’s very much like Luffy. A pair of  [ sandals ](http://g02.a.alicdn.com/kf/HTB1AqXuLVXXXXX0XpXXq6xXFXXXa/%D7%97%D7%AA%D7%99%D7%9B%D7%94-%D7%90%D7%97%D7%AA-%D7%A7%D7%95%D7%A3-d-%D7%9C%D7%95%D7%A4%D7%99-%D7%A7%D7%95%D7%A1%D7%A4%D7%9C%D7%99%D7%99-%D7%A7%D7%A9-%D7%A1%D7%A0%D7%93%D7%9C%D7%99.jpg) ? I can make those pretty quickly actually, I have enough smooth twine and thread. Might make myself a pair too.

  
  
  


Anyway, time for flute music.

I need to pray.

I stand up, stretch-  _ snap-crackle-pop _ \- take my flute and the music book and step out onto the balcony. It’s mid afternoon; the shadows are lengthening. My hives thrum quietly; I play a  [ song ](https://youtu.be/E0yfxOdLTX8) I remember my brother playing better than I ever could. And then I remember why I learned to play the flute at all. My brother, Titania, played flute beautifully. He was… gifted. I’ve made myself find the skill for it, but… My instrument wasn’t the flute. 

It was  **_never_ ** the flute.

My instrument was the pipa.

We used to play together- duets for flute and pipa. I always had to wear plectra, because of my nails. There’s another pen in my overalls- I scratch out the song on the back endpaper and back cover, while I still remember it. I miss my brother so much- I do miss Titania. I love him, and isn’t that strange to realize; he was awful, and cruel, and he was always right, he always knew what to say and- I. Don’t. I miss him, even though he was awful. Even though he raped me- ah, I remember now- even though he raped a baby into me and I killed him dead for it, I still miss him. Even though I’m still so  _ angry _ at him- I still miss him. Memory is a strange and bitter fruit.

-I miss my homeland. I miss my  _ fauna, _ or my  _ fenna,  _ or whatever Portgas D. Alberich “Sooty” Ravelle is to me, because I’d need to see them in person to know for sure and  _ I can’t _ \-  _ I can’t go home yet.  _ I miss my  _ fanila _ \- when they weren't driving me absolutely spare, they were... they were the very best.

I-

I-

I-

I think… I think it’s time to find a pipa for myself.

The song ends strangely, and I let the prayer- the praise?- the sound, drift away with the wind. I think this is the last time I’m ever going to play the flute.

 

I watch the street; people walking by, our crewmates returning to the hotel, the calling of birds. I breath in the city air, which stinks but in a way I don’t really mind. I’m struck with a sudden realization that we have dedicated general use telecommunications now- if I make a dopple, I can bounce the signal enough… I could call my  _ fauna-fenna,  _ and my Aunt, and- the Littles, they’re not my cousins, they’re- ow- I mean, probably. I could let them know I’m okay. That I’m happy, even. Can’t set foot on Faeland for a while, yet- but I can call.

Actually, considering it all- I should probably call Old Man Crocus first, I still have his phone number. -Now _ there’s _ a thought.

  
  


I go back inside. Luffy is hugging Bryony on the couch- no, he’s leaning against her, and she’s resting on his shoulder, his arm curled around her- reading a book? Nami is drinking a beer in the recliner, and Zoro is taking a nap at the other end of the couch. Usopp is looking at my drawings very interestedly, and Sanji is cooking dinner.

 

“Ah, Bryony- where are the Den Den Mushi? I had a thought to call… um, Dr. Crocus and let him know how I’m doing.”

“Oh- Oh! Right, he- um, yeah. Nami put them in a crate-”

“- _ that one _ -”

“So- Go right ahead.”

“Do you want to commune with your  _ fanila _ while I talk to Crocus?”

“Um- actually, yeah.”

 

I place my call- Old Man Crocus is the same as he ever was.

 

“Hmph.”

“Hey, Old Man.”

“Brat, what is it?”

“Calling to let you know I’m not dead and also not so sad all the time anymore. You were right.”

“I usually am. Anything else you wanted to say?”

“...Thank you for saving me, Crocus. I would have been Lost without you.”

“...You’re welcome, Tailor.”

“Mab.”

“Hmm?”

“My name is Mab.”

“What’s the difference between the name you told me before, and the name you have now?”

“What I told you before is the name of my Honor, or as close as can be said; what I tell you now is my actual Name.”

“Ah. So you are Fae.”

“I am. I’m a Fairy, actually- grew my wings back just the other day.”

“Hmmm.”

“Oh, Mab, who are you talking to?”

“Ah, Chopper- I’m talking to the doctor who helped me after I… Fell. He’s kinda old and withered, but he’s also one of the best doctors around. You should talk to him.”

“Oh! Hell yeah!”

“Hmmph. Mab-brat, leaving so soon?”

“Well, Old Doctor-man Crocus, there’s only so much we really need to talk about. Have a chat with our doctor, though, he doesn’t know much about Skuan physiology-”

“-I wrote everything I noticed about the Kids down, but-”

“-Put him on.”

 

I hand the receiver to Chopper, and then I let Bryony take my seat. Bryony is- crying? Oh, no- well, it was a very old snail, and… and she was quite young… Oh dear. Can’t do anything about it- it wasn’t like this is a surprise… And she’s smiling through her tears.

I’m glad Bryony is getting this last moment together with her  _ dauna _ .

 

I pack away my things; Sanji’s setting a timer? Hmm. 

I put my sketchbook, the Beluga, and the lenses back in my bag. I need a bath, get some of this hangover funk off of me.

 

When Sanji comes to join me in the shower, I greet him with a smile and open limbs. This time, there’s nothing holding us back at all- except for the water, the water chafes something fierce. So I turn it off.

Guess I’ll have to get un-filthy on my own. Gosh, what a terrible shame.

 

* * *

 

Mab knows some of the coolest people. 

 

The doctor who took care of her when she was- after Aradia- he’s really neat! According to Doctor Crocus, Skuans are very highly specialized Folk who almost always have some sort of wing-like structure- even syreenes, who have what are known scientifically as ‘false wings’. Their first defence, when flying away is not available, is actually their voice. (Common sicknesses for Skuans are actually chest infections; they’re much more likely to get some kind of sickness or illness in their lungs. However, they’re also much more likely to survive the illnesses of the Lower Seas that target the lungs. ‘What would kill a man of the blue sea will only trouble a man of the white’, he said.)

 

I suppose that explains why Mab is so loud when she’s rutting with Sanji. As far as I can tell without a measuring tool of some kind, her rut-cries reach levels comparable to a rower’s shout. Mab isn’t necessarily loud- she’s just… the sounds she makes are not ignorable. When Mab speaks, you can’t help but listen. Which makes her symptoms of brain damage a bit… awkward. When someone will say literally everything they think without filtering it at all, you learn far more about them than you ever really wanted to. Curiously, what I know about Mab is what her reaction to something around her would be, not much of her past- more, as she feels more comfortable with us, but…

 

Concerning the others:

 

Sanji was starved as a child. Speaking more on the now, he’s very- smelly, and he tends to scent-mark almost everything that’s “his” during rut. They both tend to smell very strongly of his pheromones for about an hour after they rut, and then the scent fades. Maybe one of the reasons they rut so often is because Sanji’s scent fades so quickly? Perhaps the frequent rutting is symptomatic of something deeper.

Then again, I do know that most Folk find the act of sex ‘feels good’, and will engage in it for the simple pursuit of pleasure. Being of different stock, I cannot say I'm in any way familiar with the sensation.

 

Nami uses vocal calls to mark her territory, and where her boundaries are; usually in regards to our resources. She likes… that beri-stuff, basically just a kind of linen paper with some icky tasting ink on it. It can be used to trade for various goods and services- useful in it's way, but not necessary for survival. When that resource is threatened, she uses a vocal threat-display to reassert her control over the resource.

 

Zoro is a big predatory Folk, like a wild tigershark. When he’s not fighting to assert our herd’s right to territory, he’s sleeping, or eating, or- more recently- reading poetry of some kind. Mab is making all of us personal journals, but she’s really making one for him. Most of the crew can actually hear very specific Voices- generally as they pertain to our function in the crew. I couldn’t hear Zoro’s sword except for when it was screaming as it died- and I was well away from it, I didn’t… I heard the sword. And I heard the wound on Zoro come into being. According to Robin, Mab is trained as a psychologist- even if she doesn’t consciously remember how to do any of it, what she’s doing for Zoro is probably the best treatment for his injured spirit.

 

Usopp uses projectile threats to enforce his boundaries- he’s starting to get better about using them, too, he used to not use them at all. Doctor Crocus says that it’s probably a kind of learned helplessness, and if given enough time, he’ll work it out- but he also might die. Doctorine and Doctor Crocus both say that ‘You can’t cure life of it’s danger’- meaning to take the danger out of life would be to take the life out of someone. Life is inherently dangerous- it’s an unsafe occupation, living.

 

Robin has deeply ingrained prey responses. Although her new herd-mates are trusted by her, she has quick-trigger prey responses still; it will take quite a lot of time before some of her responses taper off. I say some because prey responses are very integral to her life- they literally kept her alive from a very young age, and those responses do not fade away entirely. Mine didn't.

 

Luffy was starved for attention as a child. Although most of the herd tolerates his need for company and attention, it is quite draining. Usopp says that Luffy eats mostly meat to restore the mechanical integrity of his muscles after a day's exertion, strenuous or otherwise. After considering the available evidence, I must admit that the hypothesis is closer to theory, and will act accordingly. I will tell Sanji about Luffy’s dietary needs- not wants, needs- and that should be the end of the matter.

 

Mark is a transman- or rather, a Djinn. Although Mab insists that gender is a construct of the social mind and that all bodies are good bodies, Mark is still having trouble adjusting to suddenly being a Folk. Originally conceived as a ship- the Going Merry- Mark now has to deal with being physical in a way he really hasn’t before. I’m watching carefully for signs of severe dysmorphia and anxiety, but so far he seems to be adjusting quickly and easily. I’m also considering ways to make his body more… his. Currently, the only thought I have is a full mastectomy, but I will only suggest such when Mark indicates dissatisfaction with his body in that way.

 

Bryony showed an immediate and severe change in physiology after Grana Una spoke to us at Mab’s request. When she was named Kin to Captain Luffy, her hair and skin shifted to mimic his- and as far as I can tell, it’s a permanent change. Her skin still has a certain greenish tone- not as pronounced as Mark’s- but it’s almost hidden by a deep tan. Her hair is sleek and smooth and very shiny black, and while she currently does not wear shoes or any kind of footwear, I expect that to change.

 

With the addition of Taffeta’s wings, her severe balance issues seem to have resolved themselves. Her golden eyes and predatory teeth would be frightening- if she wasn't so obviously a scavenger, and part of the herd besides. I am mildly concerned about her more sociopathic behaviors, but as her soul settles into her new body- it’s hard to explain. The deer part of me understands, but the man doesn’t have the right words.

Taffy was a creature that ate, and slept, and fucked, and didn’t really care otherwise- that, the centipede. Taffy was a creature that ate and slept and fucked and played and did care, but in a stupid, small way- that, the cloudfox. Now, she is  _ more _ than she ever was before- and though the instincts to care, to do all the things she did before are still there- there is still a wild part of her that doesn’t care, really. That part of her, that wild portion of her- that scares humans. I’ll keep an eye on her, but… I don’t think it’ll be a problem. And if it is, there are still options.

  
  


All things considered, I’m very glad I joined this crew. It’s brought interesting challenges to face as a doctor and the friends I always wanted to have. I will say that it’s nice to have another medical professional on board, even if she doesn't remember… well, she’s not a doctor, she’s a nurse; that's what Usopp said. But still- nurses are very important! (And Nami’s request is probably warranted- Mab is not quiet; Sanji’s scent is very powerful; and their combined libido is not low.)

 

* * *

 

I probably had shit to do after dinner, but mostly I did Sanji. Seven stars arising in the cool moonlight, heyooo. 

Nami looked very- grumpy, the next morning. I handed her some cotton balls dipped in beeswax in a woven grass box- earplugs. She took them, looked at what I gave her, and snorted- then she smiled, and thanked me for the thought.

 

After breakfast, Franky stopped by to tell us that he’ll make our ship- the best ship, the King of the Sea. He also said that there’s no way he can be our shipwright. I stopped listening to him at that point because Captain Luffy will pick a person and pick a path and then drag them both down it kicking, swearing, and screaming. So, uh. 

Franky’s already doomed to be ours, there’s no getting around it.

A few days later, I’ve finished the journals for everyone after finding the damn cordwainer. An old Fairy gave me a recommendation on various leathers, and agreed to build boots and shoes for everyone who wants a pair. Zoro wanted a new pair of boots, a heavy pair of something like riding boots but… more flexible? They’re easier for him to move in, he says- bootmaking really isn’t my thing, or I’d be able to say why.

Sanji wanted a new pair of derby shoes. His old pair were still good for use, but it’s always best to get these things in advance.

Robin got a pair of thigh high boots, which is honestly exactly like her. The heel is low enough- and the leather flexible enough- that if she wants to wear long pants with them, she can pull them right over the boots. I actually insisted on that- you only have to be in one pit of handsy snakes to be really sure you want long pants, okay.

Usopp got a pair of standardized work boots with bright yellow tops, that ring right around his upper calf? It’s bright yellow, not quite reflective like a cat’s eye- but very definitely yellow. They’re also steel toed- I guess he got tired of having to always tape his toes up? He drops things on his feet a lot, and for broken toes there’s really only one thing you can do- you pull it straight, tape it to the others, and do your best not to limp too badly. Or at least that was Sanji’s advice on the matter- and unfortunately, both Chopper and I agreed.

 

Zoro and Taffy have been training every day- simple sword drills, push ups, sit ups, chin ups- all the ups. Wing-ups. Taffy’s a good student- doesn’t complain, puts the same effort in from start to finish. As they’ve trained, it’s become clear that she uses a dancer’s foot- most of her weight is on her toes, ready to move at a moment's notice. Which means dori shoes are not the pair for her- they don’t offer enough of the right kind of support. Taffy got a pair of dressy wingtip shoes; combined with her new, blindingly white pants, and her fitted silver-white long sleeve shirt, and her shimmery black suit jacket- which I made specifically for her, so she could sword fight in it- and, well. She looks… good. The only problem is that she doesn’t really have pockets, and she refuses to wear a haramaki- I understand, of course. Haramaki’s are… not cute. 

So I make a  [ drawing ](https://gyazo.com/787255b28b574a3182c66e6fc6d4c3de) and show it to her. She approved it, and I made her some cargo leg warmers. Final look- short buzz cut, silver-white long sleeve fitted shirt, tuxedo jacket fitted for a sword fighter- her, natch; off white highwaisted pants, blindingly white leg warmers, calf length white socks, and wingtip shoes. (She also got a pair of  [ turnshoes ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/b4/a6/be/b4a6be3bb9fdc8affac92d9aec8440a2.jpg) for running around the ship on after bedtime- like my own cloth sleeping slippers, only hers are leather and of astonishingly simple construction.)

 

Nami got herself a pair of  [ strappy leather heels ](http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3818/10015021403_ec0d1f8323.jpg) \- bright orange, chunky heel, good grip. When I saw that she couldn’t possibly wear socks with them, I got her some extra strong sunscreen. Nothing quite like foot tans when you’re trying to wear a cute pair of heels; that shit’s disheartening. Her thanks, when I explained the reason for my purchase, were distinctly more… sincere, than the thanks I got for the earplugs. Which, all things being equal, is perfectly fair- I was teasing her, after all.

Mark picked a pair of  [ jutti ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/b0/42/03/b04203eaa56d0413b486ed7d7da393ce.jpg) for himself- which are shoes that are good for all manner of things. Not necessarily farm work, though- which is why I got him a pair of galoshes too. Still, for just about everything else, they’re perfect. We’ll see how that goes for him.

Bryony actually got a pair of  [ blue fingerless fighting gloves ](http://www.blackbeltshop.com/seoimages%5C250x250-century-kickboxing-open-palm-finger-bag-gloves.JPG) , not shoes at all. Honestly, I’m glad she did- I really hate making things like that for greenshoots, it’s not fun at all- they’re learning so much, it’s true, but greenshoots are hardest on the equipment and I… really don’t like making things I know for a fact are going to be destroyed.

As for my own shoes, I got a pair of very  [ soft ballet shoes ](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/a/aa/Ballet_shoes_in_fifth_position.jpg/250px-Ballet_shoes_in_fifth_position.jpg) and a pair of specialty  [ stirrup legwarmers ](http://www.everythingdance.co.uk/ekmps/shops/everythingdance/images/tappers-pointers-stirrup-legwarmers-2227-p.jpg) . The specialty is the fact that due to some magic of their construction- which is proprietary to the cordwainer- they do not register as extraneous to my senses. When I wear them, I forget I’m wearing them- which means, of course, I actually like them alot and will consider them part of ‘myself’ when I use Armament Unguis.

  
  


When I wasn’t escorting my crewmates to and from the cordwainers- who I will not name, as per our agreement- I was hanging out at Franky’s. Well, I say hanging out, what I was actually doing was working on Mark’s jewelry in a sort of preparation for working on his guns.

  
  


I think the first time I realized I was meant to make things wasn’t actually when I saw the costumes at dance practice for the first time- it was the first time my fauna taught me to use a chisel. A sharp, flat knife- that’s really all a chisel is. Take one firmly in hand, and  _ thwop _ a mallet into the back of it while you hold it firm to a piece of wood- bliss. Pure bliss. Use both hands as you hold it against a piece of wood spinning in a lathe- magic! Pure magic!

(Of all my  _ fanila _ , I think my  _ fauna _ Alberich was the best- he taught me the most about what it means to love- he loved me. He wasn’t the best at showing it, but- the only way he knew to show his love was to teach me everything he could, everything I was willing to learn. Granny Una and Nana Elphe were good in their own ways- but  _ fauna _ Alberich was the only one who could comfort me when I was hurting, was the only one willing to try. Nana Elphe was brusque with her love- businesslike, no muss or fuss. I suppose from her I got my- it was never a question of what was and wasn’t appropriate to have. I would have warm bedding, clothing that fit me, food that was filling- and I would learn how to comport myself effectively and that was that. And Grana Una taught me to fight, to protect myself- and others. She also taught me how to have fun- how to drink, took me to my first brothel, taught me to dance- taught me the pipa.)

 

So. Red brass. Red brass is an alloy made of copper, tin, and zinc- and I can’t actually tell you the ratio because I only know it by sight. This much of this, that much of that, and so much of the other when compared to the first- melt them together in a forge and you’re good to go. The first few formulations have the right color but aren’t suited for the Belugas- usually the crystal matrix just isn’t right.

So I make Mark jewelry- a  [ collar ](https://ae01.alicdn.com/kf/HTB1tBrSIFXXXXX1XFXXq6xXFXXX8/Bohemian-Jewelry-Choker-Collar-Necklace-Women-Coin-Tassels-Statement-Necklaces-font-b-Turkish-b-font-Gypsy.jpg) of rune-carved plates, tiny coins that chime against each other, held together- held on- with links of fine chain. A  [ chest-piece ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/53/5e/c0/535ec01fa3a3aaecf11b4f079e16288c.jpg) of shining rounds, their centers polished to a mirror finish, hanging like a graceful fringe or a delicate bit of icing on a cake. A  [ headpiece ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/8c/fd/d2/8cfdd23505e6f0f9c32c8473eb11671b.jpg) of cut brass gems, inset in fittings on links of chain, a bejeweled brass comb that should rest in the center-parting of the hair- a delicate chain crown, with a brass flower resting over the third eye. An  [ astrolabe ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/cb/8c/6b/cb8c6b0681b1b859911b101a76f8b44f.jpg) that somehow reminds me of oranges- possibly because of the orange tone of the metal? Nami might like it, I don’t know why I made this otherwise. A belt of shining brass coins to be looped twice around the hips, a bracelet of jolly bells, anklets and armlets and bracers and more- all of it in brass that isn’t quite right for gunsmithing. And then I get it right and keep getting it right until I have enough for the guns.

Shaping and machining the parts- the grip, the pin, the trigger, everything- takes about two days to do right because I have to remember everything that goes into it. In comparison, cutting the barrel takes less than an hour. Franky has the files that I don’t to make sure each part fits together perfectly- he has the Adam wood scraps I need to make proper grip casings for each gun. After I made sure the grips were fitted properly, I removed them and put my maker’s mark on the grips and the brass of the guns- if I was doing this in a workshop, I’d put down a number, but these are custom so- my  [ mark ](http://bloodborne.wiki.fextralife.com/file/Bloodborne/hunter.png) it is. 

(I wasn’t kidding when I said that the spear was a different kind of tool. As far as weapons go, it’s merely a spear- a very good spear, a very finely made spear… And for weapons of the Hunt, well, it is unmatched. Fairies are good at Hunting, after all.) 

 

Ah, right. Sometime during the annealing process, the tempering I should say, Mark, Taffy, and Bryony came to me in a tizzy.

 

“Mab, you gotta help us-” yelled Mark.

“-I bite Luffy all the time and no one’s killing me for that-” growls Taffy.

“-I can’t just tear the fence down, they run on donations, they don’t have the money to replace it-” cried Bryony, fat tears of distress rolling down her chubby cheeks.

“KIDS. CRAM IT. Thank you. Now, talk it over amongst yourselves, pick a speaker, and tell me what the problem is plainly.” I snarl, before gentling as their panic and disorder is scared right out of them.

 

There’s a flurry of whispering between the three Kids. I wait patiently. Franky, who was taking a cola break in the break pit, raises an eyebrow at me- to which I shrug. Franky actually reminds me a lot of Alberich “Sooty” Ravelle, my  _ fauna _ ow- he’s got the same kind of… I don’t know what. Anyway, I shrug at him, before returning my attention to the Kids.

 

Bryony steps forwards.

 

“We were going to local animal shelters to find a new ship pet- because Zoro wanted a new one, remember?” she says.

“Sure.” I say.

“W-well, um. ...Do you know what a bait dog is?” she says.

I close my eyes and count to ten.

“Yes. I know what a bait dog is.”

“Right, well… their names are Pearblossom, Bubbler, and Buttercream, and they’re lady Skuan Dogfishes, and the best of friends and- and they only bite sometimes.” she said, wringing her fingers together.

“-When are they due for euthanasia?” I said, my eyes still closed.

“End of the week.” she said.

“So, three days. Why’d they bite?” I said, tensing.

“They was  **_scared_ ** , yis, and the marine-police people hurted them and took away their puppies!” hisses Taffy, darkly. “Of course they were going to bite under such circumstances!”

“And they wouldn’t just… deal you the dogfishes under the table?” I said, rubbing the bridge of my nose with my fingers.

“The lady at the desk said she’d lose her job if she did that, and there were lots of other dogs that needed her help too, and that it’d be  _ really fucking weird and crazy _ if someone were to jump the fence in the back where hardly anyone but the dogs goes and steal three dogs they were gonna kill anyway.” said Mark, his face resolute.

I looked at him. I looked at the girls. I looked over at Franky, who was crying manly tears.

I nodded to myself a little, but first, just so it’s clear-

 

“And you need  **my** help, because...?” I say. Franky nearly puffs up to say something, but Bryony beats him to it.

“Because even though we can all jump the fence, Taffy’s not strong enough to carry even Buttercream back over- Buttercream is smallest. Taffy’s just not strong enough yet. Mark can’t carry two dogs at once; and I can’t carry two dogs and land on the other side of the fence without busting up the ground a bunch, which would defeat the entire point of sneaking in and taking the dogs.” she said.

“Ah,” I say. “That’s sensible of you. Give me a moment to think… do they still have their puppies?” I said.

“No.” Taffy said.

“Damn. -Alright, here’s what we’re going to do. Taffy, you’re going to talk to Franky- we need books about how to take care of dogs, because I don’t actually know that information. You’re going to take these-” I said, handing her a set of lockpicks- “-and you’re going to get all the dogs files; we’ll need them for Chopper. Alright Kids- we’re going to go right now, and go get those dogs.” 

I stood, stretched, and started for the door.

 

“Wait- shouldn’t we wait until tonight-?” the Kids asked in unison.

“Nope, people jumping fences at night are even more suspicious than usual. -this ain’t my first rodeo, kids. Let’s mosey.” I said.

Mark and Bryony looked at each other before Mark ran ahead- right, I don’t actually know where the shelter is. Taffy at some point vanished from my sight- she might Dream of being a clown, but her skills are actually more like… like a ninja. Of course, saying “I’m going to be the Greatest Ninja in the World” entirely defeats the point.

 

[ Jumping a fence ](https://youtu.be/lX44CAz-JhU) isn’t all that hard, really. If there’s wires at the top, get a pair of work gloves from the feed store. If it’s too tall to climb, get a ladder. And of course, there’s always the old run-n-jump like I prefer.

It’s a nice, grassy yard, kept clear of dog shit that we walked through that afternoon.  [ Pearblossom ](http://orig11.deviantart.net/3efd/f/2013/067/e/4/e42a9d9a0cb81e9d637ea413f1ac09f9-d5xe3nk.png) is a Skuan Sunrise Tail, one of the Melon Morphs- and a gloomier pup I’ve yet to see.  [ Bubbler ](http://img01.deviantart.net/c603/i/2014/205/d/f/limbatus__pc__by_theshadowedgrim-d7s5q1v.png) is no better- a beautiful Skuan Blacktip, but sad eyed; ah, her teats are still engorged, she must have had puppies not more than a few days ago. Damn. And finally,  [ Buttercream ](http://pre11.deviantart.net/2b6f/th/pre/f/2010/126/3/c/wolf_shark_by_bockom.png) , who many would mistake for a particularly large Lemon Silky. But that is actually a wolfshark, not a sharkdog- at the very least, one of her parents was some kind of wolf hybrid.

Spirited, though- she’s puffed up to twice her size and she’s fear-growling at me something fierce.

 

“You two get Pearblossom and Bubbler- I’ll handle Buttercream.” I said.

 

The Kids didn’t say anything, they just nodded and moved for the dogfishes. I crouched down and waited for Buttercream, to the side of her cage- she’s in her own little loose box, no other dogs near her. Kennel, these are called kennels. 

I keep my glances at her quick and from the side- slowly, inch by inch, she relaxes. I carefully stand from my crouch, and slowly- slowly- moved towards her. She stopped growling as I got closer; her ears perked up, and her eyes settled back down into their normal big black fishy gaze, no whites showing at all. I slowly crouched in front of her kennel, and held out my fingers for her to sniff.

She took a very careful sniff.

Aw, she’s just got the look- she’s no wolfshark, she’s just a dogfish. Nice young girl, gentle manners. And, of course- any creature will snap and bite if it’s hurt or scared, that’s totally normal.

  
  


“...you wanna go with me girl? if it’s okay with you, i’ll get you out of here? hm?” I murmur gently to her, standing to one side and opening the door. Her tail hasn’t stopped wagging since I started talking to her, after all.

 

Some people talk to animals. Not many listen though. That’s the problem. Dogs were the friends of humans long before any other creature- the dog became the dog alongside the human animal. We picked them, and of their children we picked the smart ones, the fast ones, the ones that loved us back the most- over and over again, until they weren’t wolves anymore, they were dogs, and they loved us most of all. Some stuff just gets bred into the animal, and it doesn’t matter how many generations went after that. Some things just stick.

For example.

Thumb in the palm, other fingers straight, rotate the hand so the fingers point from the floor straight up- and Buttercream sits.

 

“good girl, buttercream!” I say softly but with a Haki-laced enthusiasm.

 

I kneel and start scritching Buttercream’s chest, which she likes, and I explain what I want to do to her as best I can… She’s a Sky critter, and the thing about Sky critters… the thing about the Sky… all living things in Skua are born with their Haki activated. They need it, so they have it- and some creatures, like dogfishes, were bred for so long in so many specific ways, that their Haki is always on no matter what kind of environment they’re in. Skuan Animals are  _ smart _ and  _ tough;  _ they have to be. And humans are animals, too.

 

I’m deadly serious- the most important thing to remember about Skua, is that every living creature (and most unliving things) is born with one of the Three major Colors of Haki. Every plant, every animal; most branches and stones and riverstreams, the fields and the forests and the mountains and the valleys- everything has it’s own Will. Everything can express its own Will. -Hell’s bells, most creatures in Skua can talk, or at the least make themselves understood with something like words! (The tragedy of the molasses flood and the lionbirds that Fell in it wasn’t that, that they Fell- it’s that before they Fell they  **_begged to die._ ** )

 

Knowing, Strength, and Charisma- not everyone can call up all three. Most beings only have Knowing and Strength. -I only have Knowing and Strength. My twin brother raped a baby into me, and then I killed him, and then I had a terrible miscarriage. If I didn’t awaken my Charisma then, I don’t have it. And I didn’t- I didn’t convince the people who helped me Hunt him down… I had no personal magnetism, no real Charisma… I- I just asked. I asked for their help; and they helped me.

For some things, that’s really all you need.

The most important thing about using Haki isn’t anything in your physical body- a ghost can have Haki. No, what matters is- willpower. Faith. Self-confidence, determination- when hope becomes solid, it is determination. When faith takes form, it is confidence. More than anything else, you need to  _ believe _ , and whole-heartedly, without even the smallest doubt, that you can. You Know you can. You  **_are_ ** Strong enough.

I’ve never had any real Charisma to speak of- I think people follow my lead because I make good plans that are easy to follow, and I’m a genuinely likeable person. Not nice, but kind; not polite, but honest; not hateful, but joyful; not mercenary, but loyal; not aloof, but friendly- or rather, I do my best to be a good friend. I… I could maybe stand to be a little more selfish- but the last time I was, I ended up killing my twin brother with his own ax, so… I think I’ll stay generous (excepting for dire circumstance). As for determination… I’ve been set on killing Harry Morgan since I was five years old. It doesn’t get much more determined than that.

(Emotions are terribly complicated; my decisions, once I’ve made them, are not.)

 

Buttercream’s no different- she was growling because I smelled like hot metal which hurt her before, not because she couldn’t see with her own two eyes that I’m a Fairy. She was scared because her friends were hurt, and her babies were taken, and she was somewhere strange and awful- but also better than it was before, because no one was hurting her, or using her to teach others of her kind how to be human. -Really, in my experience, it’s mostly humans that are so unimaginably cruel. Dolphins, too, but humans… I’ve met more humans than dolphins. Swans and Geese are just hell-birds, they’re not quite smart enough to think through their cruelties- but humans (and dolphins) are.

 

So, she let me pick her up, and she let me jump the fence with her- and when I set her down at my feet, she stayed a perfect half meter behind me, all the way back to the Franky Family Salvage. The whole thing took maybe an hour to do? Hour and a half? Two?

My point is, when we got back there was a clean pool of salty water for the dogfishes to swim around in- which they did, and were very excited to do- and Taffy was reading a thick book called the ‘Care and Feeding of the Skuan Dogfish’ which is exactly the kind of book I had in mind; the files for each dog were under her left thigh. I never asked for the lockpicks back, and she never gave them to me. 

Franky had a crate of dog things, and- was carefully drawing out designs for Skuan Dog Collars? Aw! Sweet! 

Mark got into the water with them, and spent the rest of the day playing with the dogs, while Bryony… went back to the hotel. She returned with the rest of the crew, and… I guess we had a sort of party? It was much quieter than our usual parties, so’s we didn’t scare the dogs…

Mostly, our dogs guard the ship- or they will, eventually; right now they hang out with the crew, and are told everyday by everyone that they’re Good Dogs, or Good Girls, and that we love them and-

Pearblossom, Bubbler, and Buttercream.

Good dogs. Best friends; warm, cuddly, good at fishing our Devil Fate have-ers out of the water (each dog is fully strong enough to haul Luffy  _ and _ Chopper out of the water on their own), and they mostly hunt for their own food so Sanji only feeds them when Chopper says they need medicine.

So- anyway, that’s how we got Pearblossom, Bubbler, and Buttercream. They only bite sometimes.

  
  


Anyway, after that, I had to polish the grip and the gun’s frame to a glossy finish; engrave the name of the kind of gun these are into the barrels, where water doesn’t flow; add some flourishes because Mark’s that kind of guy. Harden the metal in solutions, ensure the various parts and pins and bushings fit perfectly- use an empty shell to test the fit. Spot on. Double check the alignment of the barrel- perfect- install hammer and trigger. Reattach the grip and trigger guard; assemble a spring to the curve of the grip. This is what allows the various internal functions to work correctly- and also what keeps the gun from breaking the hand that fires it.

Making the shells for the gun was easy- crushed seashells, some salt water, and a bit of plankton together in a slurry, and my own hands to the correctly sized Wet Dials- and the shells popped out easy peasy. They can’t release their payload without proper prodding- the Dials inside the abalone-type casings will not release their contents without being fired by the firing pin inside the gun. Standard safety feature.

The gloss has to be added last- silica, soda ash, limestone, and the pyrobloin I removed from the extra keys. (It might be useful to have a seastone choker handy, which is why not  **_all_ ** the keys and chain besides.) Because of the peculiarities involved in working with pyrobloin… okay. While mechanized processes can be used to make good, quality pyrobloin-imbued products, the better example will always be the one a skilled craftsman made. The blessing of Vearth and Sea is not meant for machines, but hands- each mixture of pyrobloin is a little different, is worked a little differently. And I prefer to use my bare black-shining claws, anyway. It’s how my fauna taught me.

Proofing the guns happens without much fanfare- because it happens underwater. I’m not stupid- there’s no good way to keep the power of these weapons under wraps except underwater. Franky’s junkyard pier is perfect for that. I make another gas shell and goggle set, put Mark in a pair of  [ trunks and swim shir ](https://usercontent2.hubstatic.com/7703885_f260.jpg) t, and take him into the water. These weapons were built to kill ships, after all- and there’s few things a Djinni is better at than moving, be it underwater, on land, or in air. When I made the gloss, I also made a bottle from the excess glass- because all Djinni have a bottle. Mark’s is small enough to go on a lace of chain around his neck, closed with a cork cut to size. I don’t know exactly what’s in the bottle- Mark took it on it’s  [ necklace ](http://www.littlegemgirl.com/uploads/2/4/7/8/24789327/s439427481134768807_p201_i3_w1479.jpeg) , empty, one afternoon the first week. When he came back, it was full- and I don’t know with what. I’m not going to worry about it- if he wants me to know, he’ll say.

Oh, yeah, and Mark is Bubbler’s favorite. Pearblossom alternates between Zoro and Bryony, while Buttercream is mine and Sanji’s. The dogs love everyone on the crew, I mean- I wouldn’t have that picture of Luffy with his hat over his face passed out for a nap in the middle of all three dogs in a pile if they didn’t love everyone, but…

I dunno, having pets is good for the soul. Teaches compassion and responsibility, soothes the fractious sentiments, gives you just one more reason to keep going… Pets are good friends, stalwart companions- and they hardly ever ask invasive personal questions because  _ they already know the answers _ .

  
  
  


Week two of the ship build sees a skeletal frame start to form in Franky’s dock. I made strings for a pipa and sandals for Bryony. She doesn’t like wearing them anywhere except outside- I fully expect her to run around our ship barefoot when at all possible. 

From what I’ve seen of Zoro and Taffy’s training, Taffy’s learning curve is very nearly frightening- if she actually wanted to become the greatest swordswoman in the world, Zoro would have a hell of a fight on his hands. She doesn’t, though. Taffy wants to be the Greatest Clown in the World- or something like that, she isn't entirely sure; really, it’s that she can’t say her True Dream, it would defeat the point. -Her skill with the sword is a product of her sensei and her own innate desire to learn. Her skill with lockpicks and disguises? That’s something else.

Mark has started dual wielding his guns; his own innate strength was sufficient to wield them safely in the water. Everyday, he drills in assembly, disassembly, and quick drawing the guns. In the mornings, we practice dancing on the balcony- which is fully as wide as the living room, just narrow, maybe the length of my arms outstretched with a bit more left over, maybe a shin’s-length. 

 

I stand at one side of the balcony and teach him the basic moves.

 

“So, Mark- this style of dancing is called Bellydance on the lower Blues, but in Skua it’s just dancing. It’s not a gendered dance- because you’re not dancing with a partner, as that’s the only time genders really matter. I can teach you the gendered dances, but first it’s best to know the basics. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“So. The base of your dance is your feet- rooted in Vearth, the movement of the rest of your body flows up through your feet. When I move my hips- it might look like the motion is coming from my hips, but it’s all from the movement of my feet, how much my knees are bent, and weight distribution.”

“So- like this?”

“Yes, like that. And then move your feet- yes, that’s right. Okay, basic stance and elongate your tailbone- there you go. Now- right foot step, support left; keep the motion in your feet. If it doesn’t feel right- and you’ll know when it’s not- yes, yes that’s right. Step back, keep the feet going- left foot step, support right- good! Good job, Mark!”

“This is fun!”

“It is! Alright, now- that’s basics for the lower body. Does it feel complete to you?”

“No, it feels- it feels like I’m supposed to be doing something with my arms? Oh, so- add the arm movements?”

“Mhm- remember to keep your arms loose, like they’re floating. Not bent, not straight- yes, like that. Keep your hips moving, yes, there you go- and move everything to the beat, yes, just like that. Good!”

“...Hey, Ma?”

“Hm-m?”

“...Is it really okay that I’m not a girl? I mean- I look like a girl, and I just-”

“No, no- you’re a boy if you’re a boy, and that’s- that **is** _just_ ** _fine_** _._ ”

“Is it really okay that- My body doesn’t look like any of the other guys, so I was just...”

“Mark, no one _really_ looks like anyone else; you _look like_ **lots** of people, but who you really look like is **_you._** I- I know exactly how awful it is, to feel like… like you don’t look like you should. Like you don’t fit, you don’t- belong. Believe me, I know. It’s really awful, being uncomfortable in your own skin- feeling like a stranger, in your body. I’m sorry you feel like that.”

“-Yeah. I just- sometimes I feel like my body is fine. And sometimes- sometimes it’s **_wrong_** and I can’t, I can’t stand to be touched, or looked at, or- or anything.”

“Mhm. I remember **_that,_ ** too.”

“...How’d you get over it?”

“Mmm… I realized that the people who minded the way I looked really didn’t matter; and the people who matter most to me never cared about the color of my skin, or the shape of my body, or anything like that. -but that’s just for me, my dysmorphia- Ah, that’s what this is sounding like, dysmorphia, it’s when your internal and external body images don’t match- My dysmorphia wasn’t something that came  _ with _ me, it was… it was pushed  _ onto _ me. Does that sound like yours?”

“...I feel like- like I’ve _always_ been wrong, like… like before I was trying _so_ ** _hard_** to be strong and I just **_wasn’t_** and it hurt to be so weak and it hurt to be unable to- to be everything you all needed me to be, it all hurt, everything **_hurt_** , and now- now my body doesn’t hurt but my soul **_does_** and it’s terrible, it’s just- I wasn’t good enough to be your ship but my body fit my soul! I had that, at least! I wasn’t, I wasn’t- I wasn’t **_this_** , I wasn’t- I wasn’t locked into some strange shape I don’t understand and can’t move right in and- it’s the worst, Ma! I can’t- I can’t- I hate feeling like this! I hate it! Ma, I think I hate being human! I want to enjoy the world, and- and I want- I want to enjoy being human and be with my friends and I **_can’t_** because this stupid, **_broken-_** _”_

“You are not broken.”

“-wu-what?”

“ **Mark Merry Reed, you are not broken.** I made you. Your body is one I made, and I make good bodies. All bodies are good bodies so long as they work- and your body works! Your existence… your life… I- No one looks like anyone else, we’re all unique- the way you look doesn’t… Gold, silver, copper, bronze;  [ the best you is who you are! ](https://youtu.be/BE01dViWqAM?t=46s) I don’t- I don’t- I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry you feel like this, and that I can’t- I don’t know how to say it. I can say that- that no one exists on purpose. I don’t have the words. I’m sorry. I’m not- I don’t- what do you need, right now? Mark, darling- what do you need?”

“I don’t- I don’t know. I- I want to not think about this, can we not think about this?”

“Sure. I- no, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I don’t have better answers for you. I’m sorry that getting what you wanted wasn’t what you wanted at all. Mark, I’m so sorry-”

“No, it’s okay. You saved me; that’s what I wanted. It’s no one’s fault that the only way you could save me was to turn me into a human. I- I’m glad I’m still… I’m still here, with everyone. I’m alive. I’m alive! A-and, I have time, now; I have time to figure all this out.”

“Yes, you do. Okay. One last thing to say, then we go on- okay?

“-Sure, Ma.”

“...No one exists on purpose. No one really belongs anywhere. We’re all going to die. -I know that sounds pessimistic and cold, but I think it’s actually very hopeful, if not all that warm. There’s no overarching reason, no cosmic path pre-assigned to you; you **exist** _because_ ** _you exist_** _,_ and that’s all the reason there needs to be. The meaning of life is to be alive; everything else you have to find for yourself. Is that easy? No! Of course not! But you do it precisely because: It _is_ Hard. It’s a hard thing, finding your own meaning. You’re supposed to learn how as a child, but- you were never a child, Mark. You were young- but never a child. And now- now you must climb the indifferent cliffs of the World, hoping for meaning at the top- but rather than starting from the solid assurance of, of the Land of childhood where the impossible is absolute fact- instead, you start from the fathomless, watery depths of adulthood; in this place, nothing is certain. I’m sorry; I can’t change that for you. I can’t fix that.

“There’s nowhere to belong, because you belong anywhere you feel like you should- with us, alone, wherever. Heaven and Hell are places you send yourself, they don’t… It’s not a place your soul is remanded to as punishment  _ after _ you die. These places aren’t… they aren’t places you can walk or sail or fly to, they’re- inside you. Heaven is a place inside of you, where all the good things in the world are; all your joy, all your love. Hell is when you turn away from love and joy; it’s when you’re alone because you’ve pushed your friends and family away, it’s when you hurt yourself trying to make yourself feel better but that’s not how that works, that’s- Not. I can’t promise we’ll always be able to make you feel better, when you don’t feel good- I can’t even promise that we’ll always be there for you. We’re pirates. Pirates die. But… I can promise, for myself at least- I can promise you, Mark, that so long as you keep reaching for me, I will always reach back. I will never leave you to drown in the Sea of Adulthood by my own choice. I Swear it.

“-Finally, and most importantly… it sometimes seems that the strongest emotions have lives of their own. It is so that all things that live in this world have a Will of their own; but all things end. Every Age, every spell, every life; all living things die, eventually. The most powerful emotions can pass through you like wind and rain- leaving change in their wake, perhaps, **_but_** **_they pass_**. Death is not to be feared, Mark. Death is not Murder; Death is Transformation. It is change- it is just change. Change is very painful- change has it’s price- but it’s not something to be afraid of. -The very worst punishment I can think of to inflict on anyone is living forever; to be unchanging, to be… **Still**. Remind me to tell you the rest of the Story of Pandora. -Mark, even if it’s awful- even when it’s the very worst, it’s better to be alive. People who are alive can change, can grow- if you’re alive, you can become more than you were, you can change, you can create- if you’re alive… you can live. If you’re alive, you can learn, and love, and have a family if you want. That’s the best part of being alive- not the living, but the finding meaning in your life. I’m sorry it’s not good right now; but it won’t always be this. Your life will not always be like this. Grasp hold of your strong heart, and be of good cheer, for this is not the end; it is well to hope for something better. Be assured, my beloved one- there **_is_** something better. Better than now. Better than this. ...What, ah, what was I talking about before? Dancing, right?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Ah, good. So, dancing-”

 

Mark’s learning curve is steep yet steady- he doesn’t start and stop like Bryony or have a violently sharp learning cliff like Taffy does. In the week and a half I’ve been teaching him, he’s already learned enough to at least not embarrass himself at a Revel, which is easier to do than most people realize.

And hopefully he keeps talking to me; I can’t read his mind, he’ll have to say if he’s feeling weird. This is only the start- 

  
  


Bryony’s pick of feathers are rather subtly aggressive;  [ canary ](http://www.feathersfinsandfur.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/12/feather.jpg) for the power of the voice,  [ blue jay ](http://cdn3.bigcommerce.com/s-7czm4/products/203/images/537/bj_feather___89876.1425009368.386.513.jpg?c=2) for the proper use of power,  [ cardinal ](http://images.fineartamerica.com/images-medium-large/cardinal-feather-susan-herber.jpg) for self importance,  [ wren ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/b2/ea/2c/b2ea2c622aec28824ae80caf0dfdcc2e.jpg) for resourcefullness- or perhaps boldness, they’re much the same sentiment;  [ chickadee ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/34/97/f6/3497f61977ac88fac332bde17a27da7d.jpg) feathers for the cheerful expression of truth; and finally  [ seagull ](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/2/26/Sea_Gull_Feather.JPG) feathers for responsible communication. All together, it means something along the lines of- “With my power, with my powerful voice, with my important voice- by any means necessary, I will gladly speak the truth to all who need to hear it.” That’s a very bold statement for a communer. I’ve turned them into tassels for her, and attached them to her  [ headphones ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/3a/b5/7a/3ab57afe601467a8feeafff458d0fa80.jpg) (which came as a package deal with Mark's sandals); after a spa day with Nami, I made her a pair of dangling tassel earrings at her request. Combined with the fully adjustable antenna on the housings of her headphones, there’s something very… familiar, about her. When she wears them on her head, I mean- usually they ride around her neck like a particularly fancy leather covered and bejeweled collar. This, in addition to her throat mic, makes for a very interesting looking woman.

I’ve also started sketching out a console to her specifications- a combination carrying box meant to hold  [ our general communication Den Den Mushi ](http://vignette2.wikia.nocookie.net/onepiece/images/0/07/Straw_Hat_Pirates'_Personalized_Den_Den_Mushi.png/revision/latest?cb=20130222232317) , our visual Den Den Mushi, our flash Den Den Mushi, our chubby little scrambler White Den Den Mushi, and our tiny grumpy black Den Den Mushi meant for listening in on other people's conversations. I’m not entirely sure where Bryony found the white snail- even she wasn’t pure Flevance white like our scrambler snail is, she was more of an off-cream; something with a bit of a turquoise tone?

Anyway- her console will also have a node-type signal crab to run our Crawly Talkies, and it’s own quiescent mollusc that has the muscular strength to carry the entire rig, or cling to her back like a messenger’s bag. Or, you know, scramble around like a live octopus on a mission- I. I maybe have a bit too much fun making mix and match arthropods? Nah. I mean- my crewmate asks me to make her a specialty bug, I’m gonna make her a specialty bug. I like bugs.

 

There’s a reason I call her a communer- just as I commune with all arthropods, Bryony communes with snails- considering what she brought me to make her console with, I’m more inclined to believe she communes with mollusca entire. I can hear a faint sort of- echo? I can hear her, at least. Or where she is? Most communers can hear each other, if what they commune with is closely related. It- the skill for communing runs in family lines… but my mo- my dam wasn’t- Ow. Ow. I’ve got prodigious skill with bloodmagic- that’s what it’s called when you warp flesh with nothing but knowledge and Haki, it’s called bloodmagic. I’m a bloodmage. Logic this out, something you’ve forgotten can be re-remembered with pure logic. Okay.

Some Folk’s form is dominant over others in regards to reproduction; the order is Land, Sea, Sky. My dams and sire were in order- Sky, Sky, Land. So I should have been- Land. I should have- I shouldn’t have wings. I have wings because I- augh. Ow. Logic! I had to become a bloodmage because- ow- because otherwise I wouldn’t have been a Fairy and I wouldn’t have been fast enough; I needed to be faster than anyone! OW! Ow, ow, ow- my, is my nose bleeding? No, no, it just hurts like a motherfucker, ow. Owww. Migraine.

Feels like… like tearing a stitch in a surgery.

I’m going to go sleep this off.

The migraine is gone by the next day, and since my resting day is the second day of the weekend- which is really a Land thing, there are no days off at Sea- I decide to make Nami a bullwhip. 

Handle, thong, fall, cracker- braid the cracker out of horsehair, as is traditional. Handle has a hunk of shaped brass in it, for balance and for cracking people over the head. Two layers of plaited bellies, separate with a bolster- two bolsters. So here’s the thing about making a good whip- you have to use kangaroo leather, or something of comparable strength- ten times the strength of cow leather or more. You have to cut equal strips of this leather at a taper, bevel each edge so it fits snugly in the braid and weave, and shave the back of the leather tape to ensure that there are no lumps. Each tape is attached to what’s called a belly yoke. Then there’s waxed string to bind a leather strip- the core- around a stiff handled foundation- in this case, a weighted baculum cut to size. The core extends into the center of the thong; attach one belly yoke to the handle, and braid it all. First bolster, second belly, plait. Second bolster- overlay. Swipe animal fat based soap down each tapered strand of shaved leather, and braid. Since this is the first whip I’ve made in literally years, I use the basic twelve strand braid. Use half-hitch knots to secure the fall to the thong, trim strands. Ask politely to use Sanji’s marble block for a bit- he agrees. Roll the whip round against the table. Cover the foundation- the pommel- with an  [ Alabastan’s head knot ](https://cdn.instructables.com/FZ4/YVOR/GV525KYF/FZ4YVORGV525KYF.LARGE.jpg) . Shape the knot with a soft-strike cloud mallet, more rolling with the marble block.

Shellac over the whole thing to finish, and I got shellac beetles- and trees for the beetles- from a guy in the docks. Considering this whole city is docks in one way or another, that’s really not that helpful, is it?

Too bad.

Of course, because it’s not much more effort to make two of something once you’re already committed to making one, I made two whips. And then I iced my hands for the rest of the day- which I fell asleep for. Chopper took my hands out of their ice bath and gave me a serious scolding, but my thumbs weren’t as terribly bruised as they could have been, which was why I iced them.

Whips have been used since- I don’t know, forever? To move the weather in Skua. The ones I made are best for city use, their echoes won’t travel much farther than a few city blocks- but the big signalling whips in Fiddler’s Green can make sonic booms audible for up to seventy miles. If you want to use a Cloud Whip- or really, any kind of Weather Arts- you have to start with a whip. I learned the basics, but I’m not actually all that suited to it- and mastering the basics takes more than just being taught them, you have to have the same kind of knack for weather-reading as Nami does to go all the way. 

I still went up on the roof to  [ practice ](https://youtu.be/4PeTWvLpU0I?t=7m53s) ; Nami has to start somewhere, after all.

  
  


By the end of the second week, all the Kids are learning to dance from me- each of them has their own favorite style. 

Mark uses the basic style as grown from the ancient palaces of Alubarna; fully covered body, graceful shimmying meant for women’s appreciation. Like swimming on dry Land.

Taffy dances with her sword; while she was learning the basics, I made her practice with her shinai, but eventually she started bringing her sword and just never stopped. Rather than have Taffy perhaps hurt herself dancing with her sword all by herself, I let her dance with her live weapon- she seems to enjoy it. 

Bryony uses the- frankly ancient- country style; proud carriage, graceful arms, miniscule amount of footwork.

Bryony has learned the rudiments of throwing a punch from her cousin, Luffy. She’s also learned the basics of throwing a kick from my husband, Sanji. So… kickboxing? Is her style? I haven’t sparred with her, I’ve been too busy reacquainting myself with my spear and teaching the Kids how to dance. 

I’ve also been trying not to listen in on other people’s phone calls. It’s… not going well. However, teaching Bryony to have a better poker face  **_is_ ** going well- and is very important for her, specifically, because she’ can’t  _ not _ hear the telepathic snails. She hasn’t learned to tune it out yet.

 

By the end of week three, our new bounties have come in with the news, and Franky, shockingly, is much more amenable to being a pirate now. Wow, I’m getting  _ sassy _ . Anyway, I made a few sample shirts for him- they’re made of various materials. We’re currently testing to see which blend of what silk and what else will be the most effective as clothing for him, sails for- the ship, Captain hasn’t named it yet- and for rigging, too. It’s very exciting to have someone around who gets me on a working level; so even though he doesn’t wear pants, I’m really glad Franky’s a member of our crew.

Group training usually ends with one of us nearly drowned because while Mark has, at this point, excellent ammunition discipline- he’ll fire his six shots, switch hands, and reload the gun if it’s a reload drill, or prepare to resume fire if it’s a continuous shot drill- he still needs to work on judging where his crewmates are when he fires. The Luga'buss doesn’t shoot bullets, it shoots gobs of water- with force sufficient to rupture the hulls of ships that aren’t made of Adam wood. Because of the pyrobloin-imbued gloss (which is there for rifling purposes), the water that is shot out of the muzzle has the same properties as seawater. There have been some learning curves addressed.

Specifically, Luffy had to learn the hard way that no, when it comes to Mark's weapons, he is most definitely not bullet-proof. (Bryony is half-sea crab- specifically, a sea crab that threat displayed by punching things with its’ claws, and was modified by me to have carapace strength similar to abalone shell. Luffy is bullet proof as a byproduct of his rubber-like consistency. Bryony is bullet proof because she’s actually bullet proof.)

 

On the second or third day of the third week- by now, as with all vacations, the days have blurred together just enough that I don’t really care what day it actually is. Anyway, on one of the middle days of the week, I get myself a pipa- no strings, but that’s alright. So- a pipa is a four-stringed instrument, sometimes called the Skuan lute, after the slightly more common Norten lute- however, the major difference is that the pipa has a straight neck, while the lute has a turned neck. Er, folded? It’s got a big nintey-degree turn in it. 

So, yeah- pipa, I was thinking about the pipa. The pipa is one of the most popular Skuan instruments, and has been played for almost two thousand years- that’s recorded history’s count, not actually how long the instrument’s been played. It’s been played as long as there have been people who could make one and wanted music. It’s got all kinds of symbolism squished into it- the length, three feet, five inches is all about the three realms (Sea, Land, Sky) and the five elements, while the four strings represent the seasons.

It’s basically pear shaped, and made of two or three kinds of wood if I remember right- the surface of the sound body is made of paulownia, easy to whittle and very light; and this particular pipa I found in a junk shop. I’d know the tones of good Adam wood construction anywhere- and removing years of built up varnish is a good last-week-in-port project. I finish it by Friday night, but of course since we’re leaving Monday, Saturday and Sunday are all about moving- and since we have significantly more shit than we started with, we have to work a lot harder. Moving is terrible- but our new ship is  _ spectacular _ .

  
  
  


The new ship- a he, sometimes they’re he’s- is a brig-sloop, a type of ship that relies on the skill of our navigator. Oh, which reminds me, I need to give Nami that thing I made for her.

 

“What did you make for me, Mab?”

“An  [ astrolabe ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Astrolabe) \- I know it’s not the most modern of equipment, but… I don’t know how to make a sextant, and- I thought you’d like it? You don’t have to keep it-”

“Oh- Oh! Wow, this is beautiful!”

“Oh, thank you- um, anyway, I was thinking about the ship, I’m-”

“Put your buglace on, and go for it.”

“Can’t, it’s resting- it doesn’t work at night.”

“...Fine. Tell me then.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Tell me.”

“...Alright. So the ship has a lawn and a full garden on his deck- between the swing in the tree on the aft side and the slide, there’s a full kitchen garden, with a cute little dovecote and a special seafarer’s nanny goat. There’s a bench made of smoothed wood that’s comfy to sit on- we’re sitting on it now, actually.”

“Yeah, this is really nice- the flowers are growing nicely, and it’ll be nice to have fresh veggies. Your hives sound happier too- except the Danger Ladies, but they’re never actually happy, are they?”

“No, not really- but, yeah, the hives are much more comfortable. Across from us is the foremast, and those fireflies are lovely-”

“Mab, focus.”

“Right. Um, foremast, third deck has the helm, the soldier dock system, and Bryony’s secondary console is up there too. Behind us is the main mast, the training room, and the combined observatory and lookout room. It’s a nice touch that it’s got really comfortable seating too, and the open center for the actual observatory is a good design.”

“Mm. I’m actually really glad you gave me this astrolabe- making super accurate navigational notations will be much easier with a handheld tool like this. Um, do you have any string, or-?”

“Oh! Yeah, here- you want leather, twine, a nice plait…?”

“A long leather thong would be nice. Mm, is this the same kind you made my whips with?”

“Yeah, I had some extra.”

“So- tell me more about the ship, your perspective is interesting.”

“Okay…? So, um portside of the mainmast is the trapdoor to Usopp’s factory branch office and my main sewing room. Starboard is to the laundry room- the sewing room and laundry are actually connected down in there, and the big wardrobe is down there too. Second floor is the girls dorm- You, Robin, Bryony, and Taffy all sleep in there. How is that, by the way?”

“Um- well, Bryony is fine, but Taffy leaves her feathers all over.”

“Ah. Yeah, talk to her about it- part of it is holdover from her time as a cloudfox, but part of it is just her testing boundaries. Let her know what is and isn’t okay. Um, anyway- behind us is the kitchen, the dining hall, Chopper’s infirmary, and the bigger pantry which can only be gotten to through the kitchen. Um, around the back wall there’s the hatch for Sanji’s aquarium, the energy generators, and the ladder up to the training room and observatory.”

“Mm. I really like the fact we have a locking fridge now, and a locking trunk freezer too.”

“Yeah, that made Sanji really happy.”

“Speaking of happy, have you blessed the kitchen yet, or-”

“...If by blessed you mean cooked in it, that’s really more Sanji’s area-”

“No, I mean- You and Sanji have sex every day, right?”

“A bit more than that, but yeah, why?”

“Well- have you had sex in the kitchen yet, or...?”

“Ah. No. The most Sanji is comfortable with doing in the kitchen- with me, I mean- is some light kissing, maybe a cuddle or two. He’ll go a little heavier in the pantry, but- or he did when there wasn’t food in it... No, we really don’t have sex in our work areas. Him because it’s really not sanitary and he likes using his hands-”

“More than I needed to know-”

“-and me because if we, or anyone, has sex on my bolts of fabric, I have to  _ wash _ all of them. Or they’ll stain, you see. So, no, no sex in the working rooms. We had sex in the library, though-”

“Mab, oh my god-”

“What? I put a towel down so nothing got stained, we’d blessed all the other rooms we were going to bless at that point, and loving touches between the wedded is a blessing upon the world anyway, so-”

 

And Nami is laughing. She’s giggling actually, resting her face in her hands. 

I listen to her snorts of amusement, the soft lapping of waves against the side of the ship, the chirping of crickets. 

I smirk. 

The scent coming from behind us is thick with the promise of delicious foods- Sanji’s a really good cook and I love him to absolute pieces. I mean, for more than just his cooking, but- well, anyway.

 

“Let’s see- down a deck is the men’s quarters, below the women’s- and there are lots of baskets so I can take things to the laundry. There’s a curtained off section in the men’s, which is where Sanji and I sleep, which is interesting- it really dampens the sound on both sides, and the little alarm snail is pretty unobtrusive. The  _ horigotatsu _ is really nice too- good for sitting under, cuddling with Sanji upright at, and so on. One deck down on the aft side, there’s the dance hall, the alcohol bar, and the aquarium- which is really cool. There’s also a small stage, and behind it's back curtain is the music room- which is really cute. There’s this cute little corner where Bryony has a seat and can hook her console into a big sound system; she can pipe music to every part of the ship from there. There’s also a big wall full of various instruments- low shelves and higher hooks, and it’s a pegboard, so-”

“How in the hell did you get so many instruments without spending more than, like, a whole pizza’s worth of beri? -That was, what, three thousand beri total? That’s like- that’s a meal at a nice restaurant, how did you do that?”

“Skills. I have them. Connections, too. Don’t worry about it.”

“What, did they fall off a boat or something? -Mab, did they fall off a boat? ...you’re not going to answer that, are you? Fine. Are your connections- is it like how you have a running correspondence with Chief Conis?”

“...Something like that, sure. -I’m glad Franky added roosts for those hardworking seabirds, with little buckets so we can put fish out for them while we write letters. How’s your correspondence with Chief Wiper?”

“Eh, it’s actually much nicer than I thought it would be- Chief Wiper’s really knowledgeable about meteorology, and it’s nice to have a pen pal to talk about the things I’m  _ really _ really interested in.”

 

I grin softly, and stare out at the sunset. The water of the harbour shines. The soft grumbling of doves and the bleating of a sleepy nannygoat; the delicately happy thrum of a sleeping hive- even the Danger Ladies have gone to sleep.

 

“It’s interesting- I’m really glad Luffy decided to add something to remember Merry by, down in the soldier's docks.”

“That’s what he did?”

“Yep. He’s not dumb, you know.”

“...”

“Nami, he’s not- he just couldn’t read for most of his life, you were there when I fixed it, he- Luffy- he didn’t have the chance to learn a lot of what we did from books, what we know from books- but he’s  _ not  _ **_dumb_ ** . Ignorance and stupidity are not the same thing- and I’ll follow an ignorant man before a fool.”

“...I guess.”

“Well- do you not trust him?”

“Of course I trust him!”

“Then… what’s the problem with admitting his actual intelligence?”

“I just- he never does the smart thing! He always- he picks fights, and he’s rude, and I just- I’d follow him anywhere, navigate for him to the End and beyond, I just-”

“He does what he wants. He gets afraid, and sad, and everything else- but he doesn’t put his emotions off very often, or try to bottle things up. He might not be able to put it into words just yet, but- I think he understands better than anyone that people only die when they’re forgotten- and it doesn’t matter what the circumstances of that person’s birth are, what matters is- is the forgetting. He doesn’t make himself… forget. Not like us.”

“...No. Not like us.”

“He’s not dumb.”

“No. He’s not.”

 

We don’t say much after that.

Ah, dinner time.

We all eat the dinner Sanji has prepared with gusto- spend the next day settling our account at the hotel. 

Which is about when Captain’s Shitty Gramps shows up. So… Garp the Fist is a name my mo- dam, my dam spat over every time she spoke of him. Meeting him in person is… well, I understand the  [ sentiment ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/7d/a1/64/7da164913444577ea12e3f15b5d28d0d.jpg) .

I’ve also never been prouder of Bryony. I thought I was proud of her when she and the other Kids came to get us- but no. No, I’m proudest of her because-

 

* * *

 

I don’t care if we’re blood relations. I don’t care if it’s only by his mercy that my cousin became a pirate. I don’t care if he breaks my skull. I care about-

 

 

**“Shitty Old Man! Do not raise your Fist to my Captain and call it Love!”**

 

 

So apparently I’m not supposed to catch the so-called Fist of Love and throw the Marine Captain that threw it through the outer walls of the hotel and down streets- or he’s a Vice Admiral? I don’t care, I meant what I said. I don’t care that we had to run away really fast, or that the only name any of us could come up with in the confusion was “Thousand Sunny”. Whatever her- no, his- his name, the ship Franky built for us all is the King of the Sea; and Thousand Sunny is more than strong enough to carry us to the End.

Even if I did throw… like three, five, seven, maybe, cannonballs at that Shitty Old Man, I didn’t get very far with it- more like, I ended up intercepting his thrown cannonballs more than I got any through. I’ll have to practice my aim. 

...If  _ that _ is the quality of Luffy’s interaction with people who ought to be  _ fanila,  _ ought to be  _ family _ , well.

Well. 

Well I'm glad I can be here for him now, is what I have to say about  _ that. _

  
Anyway, that’s the last I saw of Water 7 for a good long while.


	18. Níl sa saol seo ach ceo, is ní bheimid beo, ach seal beag gearr

 

Long ago, in the formless beginning, Darkness thrived in the Void.

From this Void sprang the True Mind, capable of seeing through all illusions and lies; from this Void sprang the True Heart, capable of touching the poison of hatred without harm or fear.

And from these two things sprang Her Grace, Who Waits at the Edge Of Time.

And from Her Grace came Light.

 

Though Darkness had always thrived in the Void, it must always yield to Light- it does not dare encroach upon it.

Three pieces of Her Grace shot out into the Light, becoming Power, Wisdom, and Courage.

It was these three that created all the world we exist in- Power’s might formed all the fires and the earth and all the things within it; Wisdom’s concern poured all the waters of the World into it, and proclaimed the Law of the World to all who looked; and Courage created all the living things there are, to uphold the Law and give form to the World.

In the great creation, Darkness was pushed farther and farther from Light, until finally it was in a form no larger than a chicken egg- medium large, for reference.

 

Thus was the creation of the World.

 

Her Grace was not content with all creation- and so she created Pandora, the first woman. Pandora was made of pieces of all things in creation- Wisdom, Power, Courage, Grace itself, the True Mind, and the True Heart. The only thing that was not used to create Pandora from the start was Darkness, and that is because it was to Pandora the Egg of Darkness was entrusted. She was told to never open it, for surely disaster would befall the World otherwise.

 

And Pandora said “I promise”.

 

For many years, Pandora did not open the Egg- for surely the world was perfect as it was. And it was perfect. The sun did not rise and set, for there was no sun, nor moons, nor night. Plants did not grow, or wither; fish did not swim; birds did not fly. No Beasts yet roamed the good Vearth; There were no Beasts. There was no Vearth.

There were no Waves upon the Shore.

The world was still, and silent. Nothing lived- but nothing died. Surely this was enough?

And yet- Pandora was not content with this perfection.

 

And so she broke the egg.

 

 

Inside the egg was all the evils of the world- the Dark One, sometimes called Crom Culloch, sometimes called Angra Mainyu, and sometimes called nothing so clearly- the Time of Wolves, the Troubled Days- and all the Unborn Children of the One; and when the Egg broke open, all the foul Shadows and wicked Deeds of the World fled, burrowing themselves deep into the hearts of men, for though Pandora was the first, she was not the last, or only.

At the very end, before the very last of all the beings in the shell of the egg could escape, Pandora clasped the jagged shards in her hands and squeezed them shut so tightly- why, the very last of them couldn’t escape at all. And that was how Pandora gained a Shadow of her own, and Hope forevermore.

Hope is not a comforting thing, nor something that can live in the full light of day. It is the bird that sings but is never seen; it is the Shadow behind your eyes, that burns with a darksome flame. Hold it in your hands but a little, and you will have a light to guide you through Dark and wicked of days. Hold it in your hands too long, and you will bleed yourself dry for Faith.

And the only person who can release Hope is the one who grasped it in the first place.

 

The story of Pandora does not end with her carving the shards of Hope into her empty hands- though that is said to be where the lines on the palm come from.

No, the story is thus: After Pandora broke the Egg of Darkness and released all the World’s Evils, the creators of the World came to her and asked “Why have you done this thing?”

 

 

**And all she could say was “I had to.”**

 

 

 

As punishment, Power said to her **“Your guardianship of the World’s Shadow will never cease.”**

As punishment, Wisdom said to her **“Your children shall never be of a kind- surely kin, but never of a kind.”**

As punishment, Courage said to her **“Nothing shall ever change you again.”**

 

 

And finally, taking pity on the wretch that Pandora would become, Her Grace, who Sits on the Edge of Time, said- **“I promise you this- should you fulfill your Duty, your Oath will be forgiven.”**

 

And Pandora said **“I Promise.”**

From that day to this, the First Woman has never spoken another Word.

 

 

Pandora bore many sons, each as different as the next- Tall, Land, Sea, Long, Mink, Fae; but the last of Pandora’s sons, Floria, did not live. 

His resting place is said to be hidden in Floria, somewhere beyond the mist. (There is nothing in this life but mist, and we will only be alive, but for a little short while. It was Promised, and must be so.)

 

And so it was that Pandora became Death, and has upheld her Word ever since. In respect to our ancient mother, all Fae hold their Promises as sacrosanct; to break a Promise, an Oath, or a Vow as a Fae is to break your Self.

 

_"That's enough for now, Mark. Time for bed."_

 

* * *

 

So my sewing and laundry is this big room- against one wall there’s the industrial washer, the big dryer, coils of rope and rigging, fishing nets and sails folded up nice. Stacks of empty laundry baskets because the crew uses communal laundry baskets that get sorted by gender- all the whites get washed in one load of boiling deathwater spiked with a tot of oxygen bleach in the industrial washing machine. -Oh god that’s so nice to have. Yes, I can use Armament to keep from getting washerwoman’s hands, but for fucks sake let’s use the technological innovations of the past three centuries, fucking… Anyway.

I have stacks of glass bowls in sizes from standard mixing, all the way down to the little hors devours bowls for like a single serving of mixed nuts. I have scales, measuring cups, various stocks of empty bottles with little eyedroppers in them- basically, if you could see it in a kitchen, a craft store, a jewelry store, or a herbalist’s shop, I probably have something like it.

I’ve got the two big jars of detergent; one is storage, the other is usage and has it’s own little scoopy hanging on a pegboard hook. I’ve got a pegboard full of things I’ll need for laundry- paddles, hooks, measuring spoons, and so on. I’ve got several giant bottles of castile soap; unscented because I took over restocking everything that uses liquid soap, and Sanji is sensitive to smells. Oh- I have several different slow cooking crockpots, which Sanji abhors, but I just use them to make soap and candles so… He’s okay with them I suppose? I mean, I don’t use them for food, so… I guess if he really has a problem with my using them, he’ll say. I think he just doesn’t like the idea of cooking without watching the food- he hates the idea of cooking sous vide too, says something about it being cheating.

 

To make proper soap is pretty simple- I mean, traditionally, soap is made of about five or seven different oils. You blend them together to balance the cleansing, moisturizing, and lathering properties of your finished soap. However, I actually genuinely hate working harder than I have to, and for laundry soap a simple three ingredient soap is preferred. I use coconut oil because it’s easy to superfat- I add, oh, twenty to thirty percent more oil than the lye can convert to soap for shampoo bars. This results in a very thick, dense lather- which is perfect for washing hair, or shaving. The conditioner bars are thirty percent cocoa butter, thirty percent behentrimonium methosulfate (which is a conditioning agent safe for use in the natal and pediatric wards; it has detangling and hair thickening properties, and deposits directly onto the follicles of the hair- making it a very useful chemical compound. It also acts as an emulsifier, and is safe to use on the surface of the skin. Derived from rapeseed oil. I wasn’t kidding about remembering more every day.), twenty percent cetyl alcohol- not actually an alcohol at all, it’s an end product from palm oil production (palmity oil) or whaling (sperm whale)- and twenty percent nourishing oil. I also add a proprietary amount of hydrolyzed keratin protein to keep hair silky silky soft; I actually started doing that after I had to- for Usopp. I’ll explain in a moment. I prefer coconut oil myself, but I can also make argan oil, almond- really, any kind of nourishing oil will work.

There are jars of various kinds of labelled smelling salts on another shelf because my crewmates actually don’t have a preference for what their clothing smells like- just smells they absolutely can’t stand. So I’ve got jars of scented laundry salts that I rotate through each week. The ratio is one part epsom salts to ten parts scented oil; I use mint, lemon, rose, vanilla, lavender, orange blossom, bergamot tea, cedar chips, cherry wood, and I’m strongly considering mixing up a specialty batch of Mixed Flowers or- more likely- Rain on a Spring Day. There are boxes of soda ash- washing soda. As an aside- the difference between baking soda and washing soda is one of concentration- baking soda is sodium bicarbonate, while washing soda is sodium carbonate; texturally, baking soda is fluffy, while washing soda is grainy. Although either can be used in laundry detergent, baking soda is only about half as strong as washing soda.

Strung on a very interesting turning wheel-cage thing are drying lines, and I’ve got huge buckets of clothes pins that hang on the walls. Around the mainmast there’s a cutting table- and the mast itself is sheathed in replaceable cork board, which means I have somewhere to pin things if I need to.

 

I suppose I should explain about Usopp’s hair and why I added hydrolyzed keratin protein to our conditioning bars.

About two or three days out from Water 7, I noticed that Usopp, who has the longest hair on the crew, currently, and also Mark, who always wears his hat, were itching something fierce; as was Luffy, but more out of sympathy. I also felt a little- niggle. A touch. So, I started making preparations- I asked Sanji for a bottle of olive oil- not some of the bottle, an entire bottle. He was a little concerned, but eventually gave it to me. I told Chopper my suspicions, and he agreed with my course of treatment- he also agreed to let me know immediately if he noticed anyone else scratch scratching.

The morning after my prep work- after breakfast, but before anyone left, I confronted Mark mid-scritch.

 

“Mark. Where did you get your hat?”

“Water 7, why?”

Scritch scratch scritch.

“Where in Water 7, exactly, did you get your hat, Mark?”

“Um. The lobby of the hotel... why?”

Itch scratch itch scratch.

“May I have it for a moment?”

“Um… sure?”

Scratch scratch itch scratch itch scratch. Usopp looked at him and started itching- pulled his bandanna off and went for it with both hands. Captain hadn’t actually stopped scratching at his head, not even for breakfast.

Oh dear.

 

A soft fall of mid shoulder length bloody red hair- as far as comparisons go, the last time I saw a color version of “Red Haired” Shanks’ bounty, the colors of their hair were very nearly identical. Shanks maybe has a little more white in his hair; Mark’s is maybe a little more coppery. Also, Mark has a rather unhappy case of tiny red bumps in his hairline, I can see them. I give a cursory inspection of his hat, and, as I suspected-

 

“So. You, Captain, and probably Usopp have lice.”

Usopp froze, and let out a pained whine.

“Um.”

“It’s perfectly treatable, and I’ve already got the treatment ready- If Franky wouldn’t mind making up a run of lice-combs…?”

“A quick batch of metal lice-combs, coming right up sis.”

“Good. You three are getting your hair slathered with olive oil- it’ll suffocate the parasites, you see. We’ll put your hair in bathing caps, and then we’ll have to quarantine everything your clothing has touched that’s fabric. After dinner, we’ll comb your hair out.”

 

Sanji and Zoro are sniggering.

I smile and there is something very kind about it.

 

“Chopper and I both agree- an ounce of prevention being worth a full pound of cure, everyone will be getting the lice treatment. So. Fall Cleaning today, everybody- boys dorm first, girls dorm second. Mark and Usopp stay behind so I can apply the oil now; Mark, I’m going to make you a better version of the same hat- color and all- because I don’t trust this one. So. I’m burning it.”

“...fair. Um, actually… could I have a black and red cap instead of the navy blue?”

“Of course.” I haven’t stopped smiling.

 

Zoro is still sniggering.

Nami, hesitantly but with a slight hint of giggle in her voice, asks the question I know she’s going to because I’ve only ever mentioned Spring Cleaning.

 

“What’s Fall Cleaning?”

“Ah, well- it’s… actually part of the preparations for the Week of the Dead. Um- we basically did Mabon as we should have-”

“Neh, what? Since when is getting super drunk part of Mabon?”

“Getting super drunk is always a part of every holiday in Skua- but, well- at least you got a Kindly Granny **_in balance_ ** to your Shitty Gramps, right Captain?”

“Oh. Oh!”

“Right. Fall Cleaning is prep for Samhain, in Skua- since all the dead are coming back for the night, anything could happen. It’s a time of grave- hmhmhmhm- danger, so traditionally we’re supposed to clean and prepare everything beforehand- food, weapons, anti-possesion materials, the works. And since we’ve a lice outbreak, we might as well take the rest of the week to clean for it anyway.”

“...Mab-love.”

“Sanji-love?”

“It’s been a really long time since I read the Eight Points of the Star; refresh my memory on what, exactly, happens on Samhain?”

“Uhm- Ah!

 

“[ _In_ ](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poems/detail/53066) _the season leaves should love,_

_since it gives them leave to move_

_with the wind, towards the ground_

_they were watching while they hung,_

_legend says there is a seam_

_stitching darkness like a name._

 

_“Now when dying grasses veil_

_earth from the sky in one last pale_

_wave, as autumn dies to bring_

_winter back, and then the spring,_

_we who die ourselves can peel_

_back another kind of veil_

 

_“that hangs among us like thick smoke._

_Tonight, at last, I feel it shake._

_I feel the nights stretching away_

_thousands long behind the days_

_till they reach the darkness where_

_all of me is ancestor._

 

_“I move my hand and feel a touch_

_move with me, and when I brush_

_my own mind across another,_

_I am with my mother's mother._

_Sure as footsteps in my waiting_

_self, I find her, and she brings_

 

_arms that carry answers for me,_

_intimate, a waiting bounty._

_"Carry me." She leaves this trail_

_through a shudder of the veil,_

_and leaves, like amber where she stays,_

_a gift for her perpetual gaze._ ” I recite, before falling silent. The room echoes with my verse.

 

Sanji nods.

“Ah. That’s right- thank you, I had forgotten. -Is there time for you to make a candle? It might be nice to speak with my mother...”

“I should think so- I can only run so many loads of laundry at once, and certain things I just have to put in storage, I can’t actually wash them- which I had planned for anyway. Anyone else want a Fortuneteller’s Candle? If I’m making the one, I might as well make more than one...”

“...I’d like one, actually.” says Mark.

“Alright.”

“Um- excuse me, but- what is a fortuneteller’s candle?” asks Robin.

Sanji actually answers her question, not me.

 

“Fortunetelling is the practice of candlelight meditation with the prospect of coming to terms with your grief as the end goal. It was brought into practice in Nort during the- First Conquest, right?” he says.

“Yep. That’s also when the Candles started being a thing.” I say.

“Right. At first they were very ceremonial things, with their own lore attached- which I don’t know, sorry- but now they’re basically… Like in Est, you get a portrait done of who you’re trying to remember and grieve for, and then you make the altar and you give them food and drink and so on?” he says.

“It’s flowers, tea and incense in Skua-” I say.

“Right. In Nort, food and drink were of much more use to the _living-_ so, we adapted the ceremony I guess? Anyway, it’s also a heat source, and very pretty besides-” he says.

“-You want the traditional colors of your house, or-” I say.

“-Yeah, yeah- Mom was a unicorn rampant-” he says.

“-Cool!” I say.

“-Right!?” he says.

“...Sorry, these are all for… these are memorial candles?” says Robin.

“Kind of?” I say. “I’m no cleric, but… as I understand it, they act as sort of… guiding candles? Like a lighthouse, but for ghosts. Also, the ones meant for mourning with are, generally speaking, bejewelled in some way-” I say.

Nami lets out a soft squeak.

 

“-pearls, silvered gemstones so they shine, gold coins- or were they buttons?” I mumble.

“Usually buttons. Trompe l'oeil is always popular too, especially florals.” Sanji says..

“Ah, yes, the looksies- you think your mother would want some, or…?” I say.

“Nah. Pearls and mother of pearl buttons would be best- luster dusted if possible-?” he says.

“Mhmm.” I say.

“Thank you, Mab-love.” he says.

“Of course, Sanji-love. Anyway- if you want me to make something for you for Samhain, best to tell me before tomorrow.” I say.

 

“...Could you make me a candle, Mab?” says Usopp.

“Yeah, sure- do you want one like Sanji’s, or would you rather one of the plain ones I’m making for practice?”

“Um… just one like Sanji’s is fine.”

“Okay- anything I should know about the fallen one? I don’t need to know who it’s for, I just need an important detail or two. You’ll be represented in the candle- just, I need something for them, as well.”

“Um- she was a lens grinder. My mom was a- she was a lens grinder, and very kind, but after she got sick...”

“Ah. Hm… Well. Usopp, pick a few colors that remind you of her the most, and Nami, pick out whichever gems and pearls and such he wants to put on the candle- nothing bigger than a five coin, please.”

“So small?!?” says Usopp.

“Well… Alright, sure.” says Nami.

“It’s only going to be about the size of a tankard, Usopp.” says Sanji. “They aren’t all that big.”

“Nami, do you have any calligraphy brushes?” says Zoro.

“Wha- oh. Um- yeah, yeah I do. Do you have paper?”

“A few pieces.”

“I’ve got a whole stack in my desk drawer- come on, I’ll show you.”

 

Luffy is looking at us all with- soft, warm eyes.

 

“Hey, Mab- I was raised by mountain bandits, so we didn’t really… do that.”

“Do what, Luffy?”

“Mourn. We didn’t do that. When someone died, we couldn’t say their name anymore- and that was the end of it. When I was a kid, it was enough, but now...”

“...That’s really not enough, is it?”

“It’s not. I can’t- I can’t bring myself to say his name, though. Still. My- I had two older brothers once, not just Ace.”

“So did I, Captain.”

“...Oh. Oh! Huh, I’d forgotten, almost- uh. Do… do you have an idea about how you’re going to talk to Ace about… all that?”

“Um. Well, I was going to use my deck of cards to organize the discussion-”

“-My brother Ace is very skeptical, he won’t listen to just words.”

“Well, in that case, I’ll use my fists and feet to do the talking.”

“...He’s really strong.”

“Of my siblings, **I** am the strongest. I can take him.”

“I’ve never beaten him in a fight.”

“Luffy, I can take _you_ in a fight.”

 

Luffy raises an eyebrow at me. I raise one back, even with my hands buried in greasy red hair. I swirl Mark’s hair up into a bun, tie it with a bow knot in a length of smooth twine, and stick it under a [ shower cap ](http://i.ebayimg.com/00/s/MTUwMFgxNTAw/z/10IAAOSwAYtWQCVb/%24_35.JPG?set_id=880000500F).

I got a bargain no-brand flat of thirty- a flat holds eight boxes, each box holds eight packs, each pack holds thirty- so… Holy guacamole I got a thousand nine hundred and twenty shower caps at the Hundred Beri (or Less!) Store (for a hundred beri flat as I recall.) Just as good as branded, but for about a thousand beri less. Nami was pleased. (Well, there’s certainly enough for the crew now.)

I tied a short towel around Mark’s head and sent him off to strip his linens, put all his laundry in the laundry basket- literally everything that touched his head even once and is also fabric. -and put your mattress out on the deck! And off he trotted.

 

“Usopp, you’re next.”

“Oh- right, sure.”

 

Usopp’s hair, at full extension, when not curled into the giant death tangle that hangs over his shoulders, hangs down to his hips. I know this for a fact.

I know this because after I’d oiled everyone’s hair- excepting Chopper, who attracts an entirely different sect of parasites and also oiled my hair for me- and stuck them in their Strawberry Hats (hmhmhmhmhmhm!), myself included- and tied everyone’s hair up; put in the washing, wiped the men’s dorm down, wiped the women’s dorm down, set everything flapping in the wind, covered and killed every last goddamned louse with my loyal Working Ladies (ants work hard), taken the dry things down and out and put the next load up and in and folded everything and returned it to the cleaned and dry shelves and yes, I sorted everything because I do that and also had several rounds of wild monkey sex with Sanji because we cannot have sex on Samhain so we’re getting our licks, kicks, and squeals in now-

 

I know Usopp’s hair is fully to his hips- a little longer in the back, actually- because the next morning after he’d washed his hair, I took my bottle of coconut oil conditioner, and the sleek [ metal comb ](http://images.linnlive.com/7e2d490e6ac55e3fd3b7e9da346127e7/008600b8-fbd1-43d6-b8d5-a0715f4a1589.jpg) Franky made at my request, and I combed the nits in his hair out. Started in the back, moved to the front; and when it was done, the man had long, luxuriant locks of wavy black hair, shining with the conditioning oil I’d used to keep the comb from sticking. Hair to his waist, actually. And a clean goddamn scalp. **No lice!**

 

“Okay Usopp- you’re louse free, nit free, and combed to sleek, sleek shininess. You want it braided back?”

“Uh… sure?”

“Okay.”

  


[ Norten ](http://www.longhairguys.net/wp-content/uploads/2015/06/A-great-pictured-example-of-a-Herringbone-plait-hairstyle-for-long-hair-guys.jpg) braid; herring bone? Is that what it's called? Anyway, it starts from just behind where he likes to put his goggles, all the way down- three strand pulls across the temples to keep fly-aways out of his face and draw. Braid. Braid. Braid. Braid.

 

“Usopp, you need to keep steady as I pull, otherwise it’ll come out crooked.”

“Sorry.”

 

Undo. Braid. Braid. Braid. Tie it off with a leather thong, bow knot. Done. Comb everyone, braid those who want braiding- Nami is a no, but Robin is a yes. Fishtail? No, looks like hell- waterfall braid. Yeaaaaah. Sanji asks me to braid one side- the side he shows. I tried three different styles before I had to say it-

 

“None of the styles I know are good for your head, love.”

“No?”

“No. You might just have to comb it all back.”

“Uuugh.”

“I could clip it? I don’t know what your hate-on is for your eyebrows, they’re super duper cute-”

“Noooo~.”

“Come on, you’re super duper cute- and you really want your hair flip-flopping around when it’s all sloppy like this?”

“...Fine.”

 

So I clip his hair [ back ](http://i.imgur.com/It5ZlTq.png). Hus-band pretty! Hus-band smart! I- did I say that out loud? Sanji is looking at me and nodding. Smiling with his lips all pressed together. I buss a kiss to each of his swirly curly eyebrows and- he kissed me on the lips, rubbed his nose alongside mine and smiled. And then we went to take a nap.

 

* * *

 

How are they having so much sex? _Why_ are they having so much sex?

 

“Do you have any idea why they’re so- active?”

“Um- if I’m remembering my Fairytales right, the traditional time to get pregnant for Fairies is early-spring-”

“-What the hell do babies have to do with-”

“-and it’s forbidden for Fae to have sex on Samhain.”

“What.”

“Yeah. The stories are a little unclear as to why, but as far as I can figure, it’s something to do with avoiding ghostly possession.”

_“What.”_

“Well- you know how all of us can hear the Voice of what we’re really good at? Me, swords and to a lesser extent, metal, you-”

“-the weather, most of the Winds, and a little bit of money, I really… I mostly smell money-”

“Fairies have, traditionally, more than a little to do with the dead and those who dwell in the earth.”

“So…?”

“So- the Otherworld, the place where all the spirits live, ghost and otherwise- it’s underground. On Samhain, the way between our realm and that one opens- or thins, the stories used both words interchangeably- and on the night of Samhain, the… it thins enough that the _umbrae_ can pierce through to this world.”

“So… what, metaphysical shifting makes Mab prickly?”

“A spear is a piercing weapon, and Mab’s a Master Spearwoman. And not just Mab, Nami. Fae pick up on that shit.”

“What, all of them?”

“Yeah. All of them.”

“Oh. And Sanji would know that... So- they’re getting their kicks in now?”

“Probably.”

“Ah. Well- glad I asked for soundproofing.”

“The idea was inspired, really.”

“Ha.”

 

Seriously, so glad I sprung for soundproofing. We- Robin and I- jokingly said that if this were a merchant ship, Mab’s cries could be the chiming of the ship’s hours. I didn’t expect Sanji and Mab to _actually do that_. Good god.

Anyway.

 

The new ship is a treat and a half to work with; and running the Kids through the paces of flipping the sails, scrubbing the deck, and so on- it actually reminds me of growing up with Nojiko and Bellmere. Bellmere was a Marine Captain, and very strong- she taught me to use the bo staff, before Arlong- well. She always said that the best way to remember someone after they passed is to just- remember them, good times and bad, and pour a tankard out for them. Considering the size of the candle Mab’s making for her, I’ll ask Franky to make a demitasse tankard for her too; that way, it’ll be easier to put everything… away, after. Or- if it needs to be moved, because… because those aren’t really the things you put away, are they? Bellmere always had the tankard for the- fallen- out on the mantle, even when we didn’t have anything but water from the cistern to put in it. Bellmere always said that freshwater- for all her sea dogs what died, freshwater would have been a fine drink indeed. There was… a handkerchief, yes, a navy blue handkerchief with white double piping around the hem, tied in a square knot around the tankard, and when time permitted, a tangerine with cloves pressed into it in a pattern. -[ Pomander ](https://thumbs.dreamstime.com/x/clove-orange-pomander-16386626.jpg)! I wonder if Sanji has cloves so I can make Bellmere a pomander… I’ll ask when they come back.

 

* * *

 

My [ sewing room ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/7b/3d/c2/7b3dc27456a262b80b06fa362d72ad2f.jpg) is bright and lovely and so, so nice. I’m not breaking toes on cannons anymore! I’ve got room for all my things! I’ve got to make Mark’s hat- it’s a newsboy cap.

 

A newsboy cap has the same overall shape and stiff peak as a flat cap, but it’s noticeably fuller, rounder in the body and made of eight panels. There’s a button on top, and generally a button that attaches brim to hat-body; same as a flat cap. A working man’s hat, and quite handy for Mark to tuck his long hair up into while he works. The one he’s been wearing is… okay. Aside from the obvious. I hand it off to a waiting swarm of winged Working Ladies for destruction; they can use just about anything to cultivate their eating fungus.

Red and black tartan twilled fabric, a kind of denim- a bit more than half a yard because I’m putting in secret hat pockets; reserve extra for brim. Satin lining, white, or pale cream? Cream, all the pockets are getting lined along with the hat; reserve extra for sweatband. Length of grosgrain ribbon, silk of course- black in color, characterized with it’s distinctive transverse ribs, a yard of it. Buckram, six inches- for the brim. Buttons? Tiny buttons, one cloth covered button for crown- red. Eight pie shaped panels- no, sixteen, and cut two tiny pockets for symmetry. Ribbon acts as support for the panel seams, support for the sweatband. Stitch! Stitch. Two pockets, stitch. Buttons stitch with needle. And- that should do it.

One [ newsboy cap ](http://d2ydh70d4b5xgv.cloudfront.net/images/0/e/new-kid-girls-newsboy-cabbie-hat-red-black-gingham-checkered-cap-6-12-59adb7d6b3adec3510cd113dcccd7615.jpg) that very definitely doesn’t have lice in it.

  
  


Fortunetelling Candles are beeswax candles approximately the size of an ale tankard- one that doesn’t have legs. Um- [ coffee mug ](http://www.arrowgiftshop.com/media/PadillaTravelMugLg.jpg)? I don’t drink coffee enough to have a preference for what I take it in, but I assume… anyway, they’re about that big. Sometimes they’re made of taper candles, but those are only for… for children. So I need two, then- one for Titania, and the smaller one for -Puck.

 

[ I killed- ](https://youtu.be/B7KlD1OU8ZU)

I killed-

I killed-

 

The most upsetting thing about death isn’t dying.

Truly, it isn’t.

 

Mostly, death is incomprehensible- the kind friend, the merciful release- the agony of dying. Who can comprehend **_that?_ ** If you yet live, you can’t understand it- it’s like trying to understand the blackness between stars, it doesn’t- it doesn’t exist in nature, in _your_ nature. We are not beings that can so simply comprehend nothingness. We exist right up until we don’t anymore.

Granuna’s smile is not something to be understood on sight. It requires- contemplation.

For some, death is a mercy- for Puck, my son, death was the only mercy, the only love I could give him at the end. The only love my mother taught me to give.

It was the only mercy I could give Titania in the end too.

 

I’ve never felt grief when someone died, suddenly- and really, I don’t think… I don’t think death is something you can comprehend in the moment it happens. For me, death is something to grieve… weeks, months- years- after the fact. It’s the sadness and frustration- and pain- of not being able to share your life with someone after they’ve gone- not being able to share experiences with them, have funny stories you both remember, legacies to leave them- that’s what’s painful, that’s what’s sad. For those of us left behind, that’s what death is- there’s a fair amount of anger, too, of “How dare you leave me behind! How am I to live without you?” but mostly- sadness. Frustration. Pain.

My poor, broken son; he came out of my body like taffy, left in the sun, like chewing gum with bubbles and needle-spars of his broken bones; all chunks of white-cheese looking bone and clear slime and raspberry jam with a soul still in it hocked in a squalling gob screaming agonized and suffering not long enough to resent me for being alive but suffering screaming wailing the smell of molasses the cries of the lionbirds that couldn’t even speak anymore their pain was so bad they just- screamed- sharp needle white poking out of heaving raspberry cream and whimpers. The sweet bleach smell of amniotic fluids and the copper-iron tang of blood.

Clear, cold dawn, that First of May. Snow falling but too warm to stick, the ground wasn’t frozen anymore. Blood pooling between my legs running in rivulets across my thighs I stopped my own bleeding easy enough but I couldn’t move towards the broken thing that screamed between my legs on the black-red stained grass screaming screaming who is screaming-

Puck was a boy and living, but so broken, there on the spring flowers- crocus, pansy, camellia.

He was in so much pain, and I couldn’t fix him. I couldn’t fix him- no supplies, no time. Nothing to do but- love. I touched my hands to his broken, wet body, still wet from the waters of my womb, covered in his own blood and mine- _the blood and waters_ \- and I raised him up to look at him close and I could not fix him. I couldn’t bear to fix him. So I was kind, instead. _Don’t you worry, love. It’s just the end of the World, that’s all._ And then, a snap, and a squelch. It was soft, beneath my claws. So, so soft. He stilled, and gurgled and screamed and whimpered no more. There was blood and waters and shit on the flowers- crocus, pansy, camellia.

Purple hyacinth.

 

Mostly, what I regret about actually being the Queen is that I couldn’t share my life with my son- not that I had him, not that I lost him, not that my sister- no, no.

Tell the Truth, Mab.

I don’t regret that I killed him, in the end- I regret that I didn’t get to spend enough time with him. I regret that at the time, the only thing I knew of love was what Mo- Madam, what Madam had taught me. It was not enough for anyone, and certainly not for him. The pure making of him wasn’t enough time- feeling him move within me; his fist, his foot against my side- it was not enough. It felt like forever, making him- but I’ve forgotten all of it, except for that feeling, that feeling of ‘it would never be done’. And then it was done- wrong, and too soon. It was not enough, and I could not fix it. I wasn’t- enough, I wasn’t enough. I couldn’t bear to save him, not when- Titania- I couldn’t stand it.

I said I could and I was wrong.

I am sorry.

I failed the one real job I had. The only thing I had to do- I failed. Seven times, I failed, and the last one- Ach. Forgive me my hubris, my beloved son.

I failed you.

I am so sorry.

 

Ach, I’m crying again.

  
  


Fortunetelling Candles are beeswax candles approximately the size of a coffee mug- one that doesn’t have legs. They’re made of taper candles, when they’re for children. So I need two- one for my… my brother, and one for my son. I need a holder, too- so, talk to Franky. Oh, he might want something too- might as well check on everyone, since I’m getting up. Nearly lunchtime, isn’t it? Oh, I need- I need some kind of clock for in here.

So, Franky and Usopp have different ends of a massive workshop- there’s storage for ship repair up near the… pointy end of the ship, the fore- fuck it, near the pointy end. Third deck, closest to the water. Usopp’s side is basically a chemistry and ammunition depot; chemicals, specialty presses, various lengths of woven or braided rubber- all kinds of cool things.

Franky’s side has all the tools, so his side is the side I’d trust myself unsupervised on- and there he is. Franky’s a tanned guy, blue hair in a mullet that shoots up in the front like the fin of a shark. Big chest, big arms, and star tattoos on his forearms- he honestly reminds me of my _fauna_.

 

“Hey, Franky?”

“Hey- Mab-sis, what’s up?”

“Ah- I need a candle holder, for a tapered Fortunetelling Candle.”

“...For a tapered Fortunetelling Candle-? Oh. I’m- I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you. And- yes, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“I’ll keep it plain, just for you Mab-sis.”

“Ey, thanks eh?”

“Heh. No problem. Need anything else?”

“Yeah- my studio doesn’t have a clock. Also, you need anything? An apron, better shirts?”

“My shirts were gifts-”

“Oh god-”

“But a toolbelt wouldn’t go amiss. Any preference for the look of it?”

“I- prefer simple over cool, actually. All your work is super, but- if you can make it chime at dawn, dusk, noon, and midnight- actually… tell you what. If I make a mechanized astrolabe here, will you turn it into a clock?”

“That sounds like an Usopp job to me, sis.”

“No, Usopp’s good, but his technical skills aren’t up to clockmaking yet.”

“...and yours are?”

“I made Nami’s astrolabe and Mark’s guns, so.”

“Aha! I’d wondered where they got those- no one I could think of in Water 7 makes red brass like that.”

“Yeah, that was me. Anyway- leather alright, or you want canvas, or…?”

“Leather’s fine.”

“I’ll put stars on the buckle just for you, bro.”

“Hah!”

 

Franky’s a good guy.

 

I was going to make the candles- or start on them- that afternoon, but I ended up making the [ mechanical portion ](https://thumbnail.image.rakuten.co.jp/@0_mall/somania/cabinet/hermle/h-22836-072987.jpg?_ex=330x330) of the clock for my studio, and engraving a star onto the buckle for Franky’s toolbelt. The next morning, when I went into my studio, it was ticking away on a high shelf- easily seen from both sides of the room, but quite out of the way. Low enough to be dusted easily. There’s even a little bell, which- yes, chimed softly at dawn, and again at noon. Just like I wanted, really.

 

Preparing wax for candle making is pretty simple; set up a table full of crockpots with colored wax and a big bucket full of cool water from the sink. (There’s a sink by the washer.) I actually already have candles suitable for this- funky shapes like stars, seven points per each star. Hook a candle by the wick, take a folded towel in hand- for the practice one, dip it in one color and count 1-2-3-4-5 take it out and into the cold water, wipe it down. Same color again- dip-wipe. Different color, dip-wipe. Do it again and again until the candle says “enough”. Hang it on the working pole; shave the corners of the stars, do it again. Again, again- until the candle says “carve me”. I have about fifteen minutes total to carve before it’s too cold. The first one is a practice one- brown and white, to finish, carved quick quick with my sharp thumb claw. My mother’s rings shone black as my short nails turned black and sharp and clawed; my fingers folded it together. The next one was for Zoro; black, white, red, green; red and green bounded by bands of white and black, [ respectively ](http://carved-candle.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/05/dac784074372.jpg) ; three silvered gemstones, a clear bright one, a black one, and a green one, too. Sanji’s [ candle ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/e4/aa/24/e4aa246d1b3f6715b12336b2bbf7727e.jpg) is a beautiful pale lavender, with a single white pinstripe. Usopp’s [ candle ](http://www.carvedmagiccandles.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/03/C139b.jpg) is green and yellow, with pale green and soft golden yellow round pearls. My brother’s [ candle ](https://img1.etsystatic.com/140/0/12963173/il_340x270.1079767919_fh1w.jpg) is blue and adorned with a looksie rose. And because of my son’s disasterous life- his [ candle ](http://i.ebayimg.com/images/g/RSIAAOSwmrlU2FuB/s-l400.jpg) is simply white and merely carved. Properly speaking, each Candle is covered in bright white wax- the traditional color of mourning as set down by Grana Line Ariel, when she conquered this violent sea.

 

Franky pointed out the candle holder I asked for on the mantle at lunch- the taper candle is done, as is Zoro’s. I nod, finish up my soup, and hand the dishes off to Sanji- who blinks, makes a silent ‘aha’ of understanding, and puts the kettle on.

I walk to my studio, take the cool, dry, and matte varnished candles wrapped in plain white silk, put them in a carrying sling, and carry them back to the altar in the dining hall. I half unwrap each one as I take it from the sling, set them in their own place on the mantle- excepting my own, which are set together. I trust my brother to guard my son- I trusted my twin more than I ever trusted Aradia. I take a moment to let them settle- and yes, it is done. I retake my seat, fold up the shrouds. Untie the sling and fold that too.

Deep breath. Hold 1-2-3-4-5-6-7. Out slow. Deep breath. Hold 1-2-3-4-5-6-7. Out slow. Wipe tears away from face. Deep breath. Hold 1-2-3-4-5-6-7. Out slow. Deep breath. Hold 1-2-3-4-5-6-7. Out slow. Deep breath. Hold 1-2-3-4-5-6-7. Out slow. Deep breath. Hold 1-2-3-4-5-6-7. Out slow. Deep breath. Hold 1-2-3-4-5-6-7. Out slow.

I can breathe normally now without feeling like I’m going to break into pieces and die. Wooo. Now then- oh, Sanji brought me tea. Drink the tea, Mab.

 

“Thank you, Sanji _bán_.”

“No problem, Mab _belle._ ”

 

Nami placed a tiny bronze tankard tied with a blue and white ribbon bow on the mantle; set a pomander of tangerine and cloves, tied with more of the same ribbon- that’s right, she did ask me for that after breakfast.

Zoro tucked a folded piece of paper under his candle. I think it must have some kind of calligraphy on it, maybe a painting. Over the next few days, more items appeared; an oil sealed wooden cup and saucer with a mother of pearl spoon- a bronze anchor and hammer, linked with chain, sealed with special museum wax. Robin, Franky.

A freshly cut pink flower in an inkwell meant for travelling. Chopper.

A wooden doll in a yellow coat, with a tiny red and white string bow around it’s neck. Mark.

White fishbones tied with black thread. Taffy.

A brown yarn doll with a blue and green yarn skirt, a tiny crown of green braid around it’s soft head. Bryony.

And finally, the day before we hit the mists of Floria, a stone- taken from the garden, a simple granite cobble about the size of a walnut. And under that stone, a single piece of paper with something written on it in black ink, almost bleeding through the thick linen paper. Luffy.

Those cups soon are filled with clear liquids- water, tea, stronger libations. The flower is joined by thin stalks of grass, heavy with seeds. A tiny teacup appears next to Zoro’s candle- filled with sake. Another pomander with Nami’s tankard- lemon, this time. I put a [ lotus flower incense holder ](http://g01.a.alicdn.com/kf/HTB1_ypmLXXXXXX2XVXXq6xXFXXXO/Ceramic-incense-burner-tower-incense-cone-santalwood-incense-stove-lamp-essential-oil-smoke-lotus-incense-holder.jpg) near my candles; smoke pours down it’s clay petals, pools over the murky leaf water like clouds- a backflow incense cone, and a backflow incense burner. Only used in Skua for the purposes of… this. Or at least, the fruit scented incenses are; you can use a backflow burner for anything, really, but- there are other smells, but those are for secular recreation. Fruit scents are for- mourning. The smoke spills over the sides and smells, softly, of fruit.

-Fruit, flowers, tea, incense. And the candles, of course. Offering and offerant. Apples for the Fallen Ones.

 

 

 

There is nothing in this life but mist, and we will only be alive, but for a little short while. It was Promised, and must be so.


	19. Journey into Mystery

The floating Island called Floria is the home of the Syreene. Built by mermaids and syreenes together out of shipwrecks and various other materials, it is the hidden grave of Pandora’s seventh son. Unchartable, as it has no magnetism that can be picked up by any kind of pose, you have to just know- or be taught, like I was, to find it. To sail to it is a dangerous affair, as the floating island boasts it’s own ship killing reef just under the surface of the sea. While there is a path to the island proper, reaching it is a bit… tricky.

It is also the place, it is said, where She Herself resides- the Promised One, the One Who Waits, Padora-who-is-Death, the Oathbound One. It is the place where the Otherworld and Our World intersect most keenly. It is the place where all syreenes must go in their lifetimes at least once- to sing, to pray, to learn who they are. Aradia has never been there, though she is a sirin. I’ve been there- once. Only once. Different Samhain. Nothing really- changes, in Shipwreck.

Except, of course, the mist. And the shipwrecks. And occasionally, the people.

The mist is- I don’t know the exact specs, I was never in that part of the Theater, but it’s how a lot of the big illusions are pulled off. Some kind of sustained mist curtain wall- part smoke, part water, part I don’t know. Not Haki. It’s not Haki- what is Haki- ow ow ow ow, fuck, ow. Soon enough, we can’t see our hands in front of our faces- we’re in the right place. Nami’s freaking out- the only time she can see the Log Pose is when she’s below decks or right up next to it at the wheel.

 

Frankly, I’m not sure why she didn’t get a better Log Pose for herself in Water 7; I know the cuff of her’s chafes, and it doesn’t have any of the necessities I’d expect. Does she not know…?

 

“Franky, you put fog lighting in the wheel’s Pose, yes?”

“Yeah, sis, I sure did.”

“Hmm. Nami, do you know how to activate that?”

“N- no, I don’t.”

“Aha. Well- give me your cuff-Pose and I’ll mod it for you- won’t take more than the rest of the day. I’ll do it right here, at the table, and I won’t start until after Franky shows you all the bells and whistles on the wheel.”

“Uh- what kind of -mods? What’s a mod?”

“Sorry- short form of modification. For one, I can make it so the cuff doesn’t chafe your arm so badly. I can also make it bigger, or smaller; I can add an alarm, turn wheels for dates, a stopwatch, a light. If you really want, I can make it very nearly unbreakable, change the readout- anything you’d like. If you’re not comfortable taking it off and then leaving it out of your sight, I can draw up a proposal…?”

“That would be good, yeah. Um- I’ll go with Franky?”

“I’ll have it done by the time you come back, no worries.”

 

So. Nami’s current Log Pose is a very basic model; simple wooden cuff, basic Line-standard compass point. I have twelve normal compassess floating around- those might be useful. Let’s see- draw the basic sphere of the pose. Consider improvements- luminescent readout and needle, interior light, sapphire crystal sphere. Cuff- wooden construction adequate for purposes of navigation, hinged construction, beveled edge at hinge, Adam wood, oiled finish. Projected 15ATM- should be good for the rest of Paradise. Because we’re not in port, I cannot completely disassemble the pose- will have to use hoop-light construction. Not my favorite, but will work.

Make pose-laces? Make pose-laces.

 

A normal compass is a magnetized needle held in suspension over a compass rose of some kind. A Line-standard compass is a pyrobloin-imbued magnetized needle held in suspension over a compass rose of some kind. I know how to make Log Poses- it’s getting the pyrobloin into the needles that’s a challenge. You can make a good enough compass with some thread, a crayon drawing, some tape, and a mason jar with a lid.

Eternal Poses are a bit different; you can use either a needle made of ore only found on the specific island which is a damn tricky business- or you can magnetize the needle with a lodestone from the specific island, which is a pain because it has to be done on the island in question and takes much longer. I don’t like making Eternal Poses.

 

While I wait, I leave my sketchbook on the table, go down to my studio and grab- the twelve Blue standard compasses, my stash of uncut and unpolished gemstones- just sapphires, some emery, and a few rubies too; various jars and bottles of this and that- realize I have too much crap to carry in one go and put it all in a basket.

Much better.

Grab a fine-weave towel, my cloud tools and chisels, and a spare kit for eyeglasses repair. Exacto blades? Disposable razorblades too. Glue, some pyrobloin-imbued brass rods, empty jars. Tiny can of sterno, which Sanji also hates; rig for heating over it, wire grabby things- like scissors, but for grabbing shit- and a squeezy bottle for cooling fluid, in this case water.

Just. Everything I might need.

Ask Sanji to bring over a jar of water at his convenience. Lay a hot one on him, but- not right now, sweet husband. Back at the table, Nami and Franky have returned- Nami is examining my sketch with a very serious expression. So is Franky.

 

“You can do all this at the table, sis?”

“Yeah, it’s not a big project and doesn’t need that much space- but first I’m going to make a bunch of miniatures to make sure I actually remember how.”

“...Sis?”

“Ah, right- I was shot twice in the head by my sister about... two, two and a half years ago now. It didn’t kill me, obviously, but I’m still remembering new shit all the time- at this point, it’s all technical details that are coming back.”

“Yow! Sis, to hear of your determined recovery after such a terrible betrayal-”

“Easy there, bro-star.”

 

Sanji sets a large jar of water at my left, kisses my head. I lean into it soft, then watch his butt wiggle as he walks away. Mhmm. Wait, doing something- compasses.

 

Stare at Sanji’s tasty buns later, Mab.

“Oh _my_ god.”

“Nami, we’ve been married for about three months, the honeymoon period could be as long as a year-”

“More than I needed to know, Mab-”

“Sanji doesn’t show his wedding tats, sis?”

“He cooks, and I don’t require that kind of validation to be content. He can wear short sleeves if he wants, but… I think it’s a safety thing?”

 

Fill jar half with water, set on sterno rig, quick snap-light sterno, pour in gemstones.

 

“It’s a safety thing Mab, I shouldn’t even roll my sleeves up like I do unless I’m making bread dough-”

“See-? It’s why he wears derby shoes even if they’re not necessarily the best for his fighting style-”

“-they aren’t but stable footing is more important than a hard foot-”

“Right. It’s the same reason I wear the shoes I wear- ensuring good windbreak is more important than, well. Style.”

“-Your legs are the cutest, Mab-”

“-Liar, yours are better-”

“ _Oh my god_ -”

 

Examine smaller compass with eye for the rose; okay. Disassemble all, judge average size of needles; mix chemicals, add to simmering sapphires, touch with black-shining to facilitate transmorphification. Clip brass to appropriate length, shape into needle point, consider size of finished product. Add more sapphires. Stir with glass stirstick.

 

“So anyway. We’re about to head into some very dangerous territory. Your Pose wouldn’t be all that helpful, anyway. -There’s a place- called Floria by the locals- nearby, I can tell by the mist.”

“Go on.”

“Right- more commonly called Shipwreck Cove, or the Hidden Island of Shipwrecks-”

“-the shipwright’s nightmare is _real_ , sis?”

“Well- yeah, of course…?”

“Floria as in- _the Florian Triangle?”_ says Nami.

“Yes, that’s it. Chances are, if we’re _ever_ finding a musician for Captain, it’s going to be in Floria. It’s the home of the Syreenes- or you’d know them as sirens, I guess.”

“Oh, like me?” says Bryony.

“Yeah- it’d be good for you to go there, every syreene makes a pilgrimage to Floria at least once in their lives. You’d learn a lot, and it’d probably be good for you. Need something?”

“Need a real musician- I can only play and remix the same songs so many times before it’s just… not fun.” says Bryony.

“Yeah. Which is why I’m suggesting we go to Floria.”

“Okay, hold up- how would we even get to Floria if the Log Pose doesn’t point to it?” says Nami.

“There are lightposts, and a song we’ll hear- we need to follow the music. Bryony?”

“Listening in- go to where it’s louder?” says Bryony.

“That’s right.”

“Is this like that thing with Selfridge?” says Nami.

“Yeah, maybe. And- there’s probably going to be extra complications because of Samhain. Here are the rules- we’re going to be landing on what looks like an island. It isn’t an island, exactly- it’s… it’s a place called Floria. Floria is the most ancient grave of Skua. It’s guarded at all times by- no, that doesn’t matter. What matters is that… on Samhain night, all the normal rules don’t apply. So. Rule the first- treat everyone you meet, no matter how they act towards you, with as much respect as you can.”

“Seems sensible sis. Oh, hey Mark.”

“Hey Franky. Hey, Mab, can I have mist bullets? I was thinking of adding a drug to them, maybe, or some paint-” says Mark.

“There will be no aerosolized sedative mist munitions testing below decks, and no mist munitions testing below decks either- not in my studio especially. I’ll make plain mist rounds for you, along with a carrying pouch; if you want an aerosolized sedative or irritant or paint or whatever, talk to Chopper, Usopp, or Franky. When you test it, you’ll test it at Nami’s discretion, downwind of the rest of us. And you’ll talk to Sanji and Usopp about proper protective procedures when dealing with aerosolized chemicals, they know that sort of thing.”

“Sure do- make him some protective gear too, Mab-love.”

“Will do, Sanji-love.”

“Aw, but _ouna_ Mab-”

“ **No.** ”

 

Mark makes a puffy pouty face. I am unmoved.

Magnetize the brass needles, take a handful of the liquidized sapphire, spherical bubbles of glass, cool with water- maintain temperature. Make two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve. Set them in ceramic egg holders, prepare clear threads and score lines in each sphere.

 

“Hey Zoro, how long’ve you been there?”

“Long enough to remember there’ s usually three rules for going to a Fae Realm.” says Zoro.

“Ah- yes, right. Rule the second- do not follow the lights in the mist. This is the Syreene hunting ground, and syreenes- or, as you know them, Sirens, are ship killers. The reason for this is simple- they have to keep rebuilding or repairing parts of their floating… Shipwreck. And the reason they want ships in particular is because of the acoustics the ships themselves and what they- the syreenes- guard.”

“-so all those stories about the Florian Triangle are true? About it being a ship’s graveyard-” says Franky.

“Yeah, true stories. Sort of. True _enough_. And the final rule… Rule the third- under no circumstances shall you remove your costume. That is, for the day of Samhain- which starts at sundown today and doesn’t stop until the sun sets again- you keep your costume on. Tradition. It’s- safer. I can make you any kind of costume you’d like- so long as it’s black and white. And if you’ve nothing in mind, a simple suit and tie will suffice. -yes, even for you, Taffy.”

“Yis!”

 

Our costumes are a bit… [ skeletal ](http://entertainment.inquirer.net/files/2015/04/0412HOLLYWOOD-20.jpg). Skull joke, skull joke. Why did I make a skull joke…?

  
  


[ It’s the emptiness and silence that gets to people ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/1c/8c/24/1c8c24a23132d02e2f7e6131a8bba70a.jpg). There’s a few key times- randomized from the outside, but easy enough to predict- and the sea goes clear. I don’t know exactly how the currents work, but basically- for most of the year, the surface of the Florian Triangle is very nearly smooth as glass. This stretch of days surrounding Samhain in particular are some of those times. It’s not deep enough to stop the ship from sailing- but the surface waters are cool and smooth, like a black mirror.

Periodically, during the night when we do not sail onwards, a soft crossbreeze will cut the fog apart and show a vault of endless stars hovering over us. The Nine Daughters dance over us, the Bloody Haired One racing ahead of her gentler sisters- and below, on the nearly still surface waters, the Otherworld’s vault of stars spins and shimmers exactly the same. It’s astoundingly beautiful, and entirely strange. Because, you see, underneath the water are umbrae.

Umbrae are shadows- shades. The shadows of ships, of people, of islands long since died, of trees burnt and those who have Fallen…

By right, the Queen of the Fae is also the Ruler of Shadows- but Madam, my mother- the one who bore me into this world... When Rouge and Roger died, the part of her that… that **_cared_ ** died too. Her kindness, her bravery- all that remained was her rationality, and that’s a cold thing to raise children on, disdain for sentiment or not. And her Fate, and her fate, was sealed long ago- so, though she held the Throne, she could not be the Queen in truth.

Floria is the home of Pandora’s sacred fig tree, Fate- it’s… apocryphal. The story, I mean- and anyway, the fruit is probably not there. Unless [ **_she's_ ** ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/2a/29/19/2a29192a79438469fd23757254139737.jpg) still there- she might be, but I only have the one thing to trade... I don't need it, true, but- I-

 

There’s really only one way to legitimately be the Queen of the Fae. Every fairy has the right to go to Floria and pick one fruit from the sacred fig tree- one fruit, one time. Ever, in their life. I- Madam wanted me to pick a fruit when she took me to Floria before, but, but I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. And she couldn’t make me.

I couldn’t eat any of those fruit anyway- I just didn’t have the stomach for it. Skull joke! Skull joke! -that wasn’t even a good one, what the hell…?

Ow!

The song comes through the mist faintly, but clear enough. Bryony alerts us to the sound, and we sail at exact angles away from the light posts- wavering green light. Sunny’s fog lanterns briefly make the jagged teeth shining just under the waves sparkle before they turn black again, the barest, vaguest hints of waiting teams of feather-cloaked salvagers on floating buoys only a recollection after we pass. It’s a very good thing we’re all wearing earplugs, even Luffy- the voice, it’s one I know, certainly; and if it’s who I think it is, then there’s more than enough power behind it to make us all walk into the sea. It’s not- it’s not one that’ll shiver your timbers, that’s not who’s singing. Skull joke, skull joke.

OW!

I go down to the music room, take my pipa from the wall, and come back to the top decks. Hook my spear over the other shoulder. My crewmates have steadily become more despondent and twitchy as we’ve sailed through what amounts to the the emptiest and most creepy part of the ocean possibly in the world. I am not the musician of this crew- raising the spirits of our crewmates on our journey is not my job. I’m the seamstress. My job, in a very literal sense, is to care for them, and ensure they have what they need as they need it- I can’t lead them, or guide them; can’t protect or defend them; can’t heal them, can’t tell them of the mysteries of the world. I cannot listen for danger, or provide simplified wisdom, or even provide explosive support. I can only shadow them, only race ahead and do my best to care (which is no advantage)- and so, I take my pipa.

  


And as we sail into the harbor, I play- [ a song ](https://youtu.be/qIFNTpKllug). From beyond the mist, a singer calls out to us- and winding up out of the mist, a long slim shape, like a cat or- no, not a cat.

That’s a racoon.

It _is_ her.

 

Dead ships rise into the shape of a woman’s face, weeping from one eye. From the faint breezes in the mist, a thick smell- like flowers and rotting fruit. A wind somewhere that doesn’t touch the mist makes metal chime on metal; spars of bamboo and strange trees almost like baobabs stab out of the water. Scaffolding grows on them like lichen and tree-mushrooms; from their heights I watch as solemn eyed people in wispy cloaks watch us pass in silence.

 

In the shallows approaching the harbour, we see the scuttled remains of centuries worth of ships- lifetimes of them. More ships than can be counted, really. Picking over the jagged bodies are more silent people; children? No, young teenagers- wearing half-cloaks of feathers and brighter feathers woven into their hair, picking over bones for treasure, scampering into and out of the water, their chirps and cackles a sound not unlike nesting sea-birds.

It should be louder than it is.

The syreene I know is one of the porters- a gully, someone who works dockside; of course, if it’s really who I’m thinking of, she’s got four or five jobs; today she’s a gully. Every night, she’s a bartender. Her voice echoes and reverberates off a massive shell speaker; we dock just in time to see a shift change. The gully is joined by another- their voices harmonize for about half a minute, before the first gully steps off the post and stretches on the dock, their pink and black feathered cape- wait, I know that cape. I know that cape, that’s-

 

“Ghost Pepper, is that you?”

“I dunno, Stitch Bitch- since when do you have friends?”

“Well, when my sister- you know, the Boar Drone- shot me and threw me into the sea, after I healed up a bit I decided to become a pirate.”

_“Really?”_

“Yeah.”

“Thank fucking god, I was wondering when you’d actually do something you _wanted_ to for once.”

“Hah. Says the fashion designer who works- what was it, fifteen different jobs over the course of a week?”

“Shut up!”

 

Yeah, it’s her. I guess I better-

 

“So can we dock or what?”

“Yeah yeah- go ahead, I got you.”

 

Yeah, thought so.

 

“Okay everyone. Welcome to Floria. Keep your costumes on, and please, try not to start any fights.”

“So, what’s the docking fee?”

“Ain’t one, Nami.”

“Eh?!?”

“Well- it’s like this; if you’re good enough at navigation to get here, you’ve got business here anyway. All the gems and gold here is in Fortunetelling Candles and other grave-goods anyway, and all the real treasure is the people- there’s nothing here worth stealing, not really.”

“So- what, now that I know how to get here-?”

“Yeah. There’s no real need for the dock, normally, and there’s always more wood for a dock than actual need, so- really, why would they charge you to use something that’s functionally worthless? Most people who actually come to Floria do it by flying here, not sailing.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah- now come on, we’ve got a musician to find.”

“Shishishi- You know where a musician is, Mab?”

“Mm- maybe. Mostly it’s some business I need to finish; best not to wander off here.”

“Neh, alright- no wandering off, guys. Captain’s orders.”

  


“Ghost Pepper” Perona is basically- I guess one way to say it is she’s my senior in terms of sewing. Where I went more engineering with my focus, she went straight to haute couture and never looked back. She’s- alright, I don’t think I’ve ever put it quite like this before.

The average height for this era for most everyone in all the Blue Seas- and the Line too- is about eight feet, that’s two hundred forty three centimeters. It’s not uncommon to be much larger than two hundred forty centimeters; three, four, five hundred are not terribly rare. If I’m remembering the wanted poster right, Whitestache is somewhere between four and five hundred centimeters- twelve and fifteen feet. Not all that common, but not all that rare, either.

I, myself, am a perfectly normal two hundred forty seven; Sanji’s just about two ninety, if that helps any; and Chopper’s a meter tall- three feet- from his top-hat down in Brain Point or from his shoulder down in Walk Point. Luffy is next shortest, at about one eighty centimeters. Nami’s taller, at an even two hundred, followed by Usopp at two ten. Zoro is actually the same height as Sanji, they just hold themselves differently- Robin too, actually. Franky’s a bit taller than me at two hundred forty nine centimeters- and the person I’m thinking of having join us is three hundred centimeters flat, and I know this because- because- ow, ow, ow. Tangential!

Perona is around two hundred twenty- not the shortest in our cohort, that was always a tossup between Moda the Tease and Trafalgar Lamie, at least until Lami got her growth spurt. As I recall, that’s also when I gave Lami the nickname “Tiger Mama”, as her burn scars and the splotches from her Amber Lead Syndrome stretched and rippled into stripes- a bit like a tigers, but more like a calico cat’s. (Her research project to get her doctorate was “what the hell Amber Lead Disease even is”- turns out, it’s a genetic mutation in response to an environmental toxin. She’s responsible for Skua’s banning of Flevance White entirely- long after it would have been, you know, useful. But- well, there are other lead based paints and products in the world, and those aren’t allowed in Skua either; not without good reason. She’s the one who figured out that not only is lead a neurotoxin, but how exactly her mutation protects her from ingesting more than her body can wash out eventually. Lami pretty. Lami smart.)

As far as I can recall her- Lami, I mean- she had soft brown hair, an optimistic disposition, and the smallest goddamn hands this side of a toddler, or Chopper. She- oh, that’s right. Lami was my OB/GYN, and the one who repaired my uterus and vaginal canal after- After. I hope she’s alright- the nature of her oaths mean that she was honorbound to do her very best work for any patient under her care… looking back on it, I suppose that’s why it took a full year for Aradia to actually try killing me, she couldn’t get close enough until Lami signed my bill of health.

I didn’t name her Tiger Mama just for the look of it, after all. Nor did I entrust her with the care of my younger sisters just on a whim. And most importantly- she’s Spa- dille’s- doctor- ow- and that means she has to do what he tells her, no matter how much she doesn’t want to. Captain’s orders are Captain’s orders; if you don’t follow them, it’s because you’re either challenging the Captain, or leaving the crew.

Since I’m thinking about it, Moda was always a spectacular infiltrator- ostensibly working for the benefit of the 4H Society, she really did hands on research and development of various agriculture and animal husbandry techniques. I think the last time I was in contact with her, she was doing some kind of something with dairy cows? I don’t know, it’s been a long time. What I do know is that Moda is one hundred and thirty seven centimeters tall- that’s about five foot three; and being a Skuan with more than a little Fairy blood on both sides of her Line, she’s got a chest like a pair of pancakes, the lucky swenk. Useful for her covers, as people are willing to take in young children or hire them as farm workers and teach them the ropes of working far more than they’re willing to teach young women- but it was always hard on her, being mistaken for a child. The last time I saw her was when we took the same Skuan Ferry to Floria because I was- Oh!

The second time I came to Floria was _for Perona_ \- she was obsessed with her family, wanted to save up enough money to find them out there in the Low Blues. Considering how long they’d been- separated, how young she was, the circumstances of their separation (which I later learned I was almost directly responsible for), I decided the only thing to do was… well, see if I couldn’t find them first. I did- I’m very good at finding what I search out- but before I had a chance to talk to Perona, Sevvy brought me that damned fake Royal missive, and well. Well.

Odd how things work out sometimes.

 

“Perona- it’s nice to see you again. If it’s not too much trouble, could you take us to see Mr. Brook?”

“...You know he won’t just up and leave, he’s caught here as much as I am. Besides, what’s in it for me?”

“I found them. I found your sisters and your _faunadam_ , Perona. If I take you to them, will you take us to him?”

“...Alright. _-You always could find it first..._ ”

 

We walk- My pipa over a shoulder, my spear over the other, my gaze carefully watching for- I don’t know. We cross through banks of swirling mist, hear the chattering giggles of young children and see- ah, crowsies, school kids running about for the last little bit of secular time before- tomorrow.

Everyone celebrates Samhain differently- but on Floria, you visit the dead and sing for them- during the day, at least. On Floria, visiting the dead and singing for them is a daily occurrence. So what happens at night? The same as every other Night- ow.

Floria is constantly sinking- the smell of mouldering wood-like things and sea brine wars with fruit, and flowers, and growing things, and incense, and the deep melancholy of seeing a splendid world coated with gold and gems and pearls and knowing it’s all of it- _all of it-_ for the dead; behind the gilt is rotting tree flesh. The thoroughly remembered dead. Oh, shit- dammit Nami-

 

“Nami, every single piece of gold, of silver- every gem, every pearl- all of these are grave signs. None of this is worth it to steal. Leave it be.”

“All if it can’t possibly be-”

“Nami. It’s not really in my nature to exaggerate with hyperbole- it’s why I was never any good at performance, which is all about exaggeration. Let me say it again, but clearer, for you. The floating island of Floria is the ancient graveyard of Skua; it’s only these past hundred years or such that Skuans have really used house altars as the only place of remembrance. I guess in the Lower Blues Land is plentiful enough that you can just put a grave wherever it’s nice enough- but in Skua… we can’t do that, we have to make all the Vearth we have- or steal it, my Granuna is famous for stealing it- but… the house altars are where we remember the ones that have passed. **_Floria is where they live._ ** So- for **your** sake, **_don’t steal a single piece of the shiny_ ** . It belongs to those who are dead; and the dead **will** keep it.”

 

The beri signs in Nami’s eyes have faded; Perona is less tense.

Whew.

That could have ended in a Hunt, which would have been… terrible for us all.

(There’s only so many reasons to call for a Hunt- murder, theft, oath breaking. Seven Laws, for seven brothers- and the last one will get a Fae into trouble. (Not lightly do the people of the Sky give their Oaths.) A declaration of intent to murder counts as Oath Breaking, as does grave robbery. And I’d really rather not kill one of my only friends. -I killed my own twin brother, who I still love and who knew me better than maybe anyone else- because he broke the Oath of Kin. D’you really think I _wouldn’t_ kill Nami if it came down to it? Who do you think I am?)

 

We walk through dimmed streets adorned with gold; Perona passes each of us a lantern which lights the mist with a warmer light. When I see Nami’s fingers twitch and wriggle maybe more towards the gem encrusted reliquaries than they should, I take her hand in mine and I do not let her go. We walk down golden paved streets, past poorly rows of- aha.

 

“There- that’s the gate for the mass grave for the [ Tri-a-gone Shirtwaist Factory Workhouse ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Triangle_Shirtwaist_Factory_fire). You ready, Miss Perona?”

“...Yeah.”

 

I press the right sequence of flowers and leaves, saints and heroes, Fae and Demons- and they break apart, gold pieces revealing bronzed mechanisms and gemstone cogs before the gold whirls into a wall of shimmering golden flames. They freeze like tongues of golden fire, like the feathers of a firebird, and then- it’s just a curtain.

It opens, and before us- a [ mistless place ](https://youtu.be/XxkLQ8kWwAY).

We walk up the stairs to come to a knee high wall.

It’s made of smooth dry stone, grey in color. And before us, the first actual colors we’ve seen in Floria- colors that aren’t pastels. In the place beyond the curtain, we stand on a balcony; to our left and right are staircases.

 

And out beyond the low wall- a field. It’s a field of poppies, sprawling out to the walls; there are trees, here and there, and… Ah. I remember, now.

They’re not called Florians- they’re called Automata. Technically, these are Galatean Automata, some of the oldest- but...

  


The light here, after the not-light of Floria before, is all but blinding.

 

A steady breeze clears the mist from this place; between long green stalks and bright red flowers shine golden feathers, sparkling with inset gems. There is a path, slowly winding through the unburning flames; blue tiled stones that shine like the scales of a fish. The sudden sharp noise of living things makes clear the strangeness of Floria; the purpling-grey mist, empty of life but for the echoes and movements too quick to see. The lack of color- in the full light of day, Perona’s feathered cloak is black and pink and shimmery, a lacy edging of hearts and skulls dangling from it’s hem. Her hair is pink, too, and she is paler than milk, faint blue veins coursing underneath her skin. Her eyes are round and black; her pet raccoon, Kumashi, pokes his head out of her tote bag. (Why do I remember the name of Kumashi, but not the age of my brother Titania? Wait a second. Ace is my older brother, and Aradia is- no, Spadille. Spadille is his twin brother, they were born at the same time- blame blood magic if you need to know why. So why do I consider Aradia- OW FUCK MIGRAINE. OW. OW FUCK. -I think- I think I know why- OWOWOWOW- Okay. I know why. I know what to do, it’s just- change is terribly painful and I don’t want to.)

In this sunlit field there stands a massive black cube- a Poneglyph, and a mighty oak tree. Guarded on the right by a feather-winged woman bearing an apple and kneeling in respect; guarded on the left by a feather-winged woman bearing a rod somewhat like a chair rail, or one of the posts on the stairs back on Sunny. Not the bannister, the other ones. Also respectful, but in a different way. They're made of porcelain and bronze and other things we can't see so clearly.

 

I let go of Nami, take Perona’s arm, and walk her down into the field of poppies. I walk us over to the apple-bearing Automata, who blinks, glances at me, and at Perona at my side. She nods, and presses fingers to the astrolabe in her hands; there’s a faint click, and it opens, revealing what I left in her care- feathers made of gold, their ribs impressed with tiny gemstones.

 

Perona has not lived a happy life; there are [ twenty owl feathers ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/da/75/7a/da757a7d2a3530747f622624f9b2ae59.jpg) total.

 

I take my senior through the field; at each place of rest, I name her sibling, and she places the golden feathers thus. In order of the youngest to oldest sisters (because all Perona had were her sisters and her _faunadam,_ the father that bore them all into the world with his own body)- Marte, Mouly, and Shelagh were buried next to each other three paces behind the Automata of the Stave; Tina, Kirou, and Marcel were buried four paces to the right of the Automata of the Orb. Dougal and Martinique are under the oak tree, near the back wall of this grave site; Lula and Beo are to the left of the stairs. The two final feathers- well, one is for-

 

“Alright. Your twin, Corona, is at the base of the stairs, just here. And your _faunadam_ , Gekko Moriah, is right in front of the Cube; just twelve paces short should see you at his head. You need me to come with, or shall I stay by the stairs?”

“You should- just… just stay by the stairs please.”

“Okay.”

 

I sit on the low retaining wall that separates the graveyard from the stage balcony. Focus on the logic, Mab.

  


Ace is older than me by one year. Fact. Titania was my twin. Fact. Aradia is younger than me. Fa-wrong. Error. Aradia cannot be younger than me because Aradia was Spadille and Spadille was older than me by a full year which means- aaaaaaaaaow. NO. No more. I press my hand to my skull, to the place where the bullets hit me and feel- three threads. Not mine. I snap them and breathe deeply- first thread, Severa’s sacrifice. Second thread, Titania’s madness. Third thread- Aradia is not real. I’ve sworn to kill a Lie.

The best way to kill a Lie is to tell the Truth.

 

Which means- Her. Oh, Queen Morgan. What have you done?

 

...Before I explain it to Ace, like I promised Grana Una I would, I might as well explain it to myself.

 

 

 

Suits in order, high to low- ♠, ♣, ♦, ♥.

 

First Round- draw two queens, one king; Three of a Kind- K♠, Q♥, Q♠; play. K♠ discards self- draw new K♠ in round two; Q’s discard each other in the aftermath. Q♠ breaks oath; Q♥ disavows Q♠ and is then discarded with the drawing of the A’s- draw new queen in round three. Q♠ should have been discarded this round, but wasn’t.

 

Second Round; draw four Aces; Two Pairs. A♦, A♥, A♣, A♠. A♣ stolen; A♠ moved to hand with K♠ and J♠- Three Kin. Q♠ captivates A♣ with Caprice and A♦ with Jealousy; A♥ cannot be captivated. Q♠ sets A♦ and A♣ against A♥.

 

Third Round- A’s Wild; A♥ moved to hand with ♦ Flush- 3♦, 6♦, 7♦, J♦, A’♦’. A♣ becomes A‘♥’; pairs with Q♠. A♦ inverts to 2♣.

 

Fourth Round- Heist; A‘♥’ captivates 2♣. ♥s Suit ‘discarded’ by 2♣ save for J♥, K♥, Q♥ and A♥. ♥ Suit removed from play by A‘♦’; put into care of Q♥; return to play in seventh round.

 

Fourth Round- discard round. A‘♦’ discards 2♣ in retaliation for discarding of ♥ Suit and- and- and- A♦ revealed, discarded, returned to deck. Draw new A♦ in sixth round. Three A's remain in play. A‘♥’ captivates A‘♦’; converts A'♦' to Q♣. Q♣ revealed to be A'♦’ and ‘Black Joker’. A'♥’ discards ‘Black Joker’; ‘Black Joker’ is revealed to be a Tarot card, and removed from play entirely. (The Tower, if it matters- 16. That’s how old I was when Titania-) A‘♥’ discards A‘♦’; A♥ revealed. (Since there can only ever be one of any Named Suit in play, A‘♥’ reveals self as A♣.)

 

Fifth Round- Handoff Round. A♥ remains with K♥ for two turns before joining the Royal Flush- K♠, Q♣, J♦, K♥, ect. Note the high level of mixed suits; The King’s Hand. A♥ meets K♥. Lovematch; these two will always be stronger when played together. A♥ meets A♠. Due to faulty discard last round, A♥ does not recognize A♠ on sight. A♥ does recognize J♣ on sight, defends J♦ from cold; meaning J♣ is old A♦ sire, as well as A♥ sire. A♥ summons Red Joker, swears to kill A'♥’, which A♣ is still acting as, despite illegality of play.

 

Sixth Round- the Setup. A♥ prepares hand; Q♦ freed, K♣ not found, J♥ grieved, Q♥ waiting, K♥ colluded with. A lot can happen over two turns. Two pair, no Kin. A♥ seeks the Tree of Grave Importance. (If successful, A’♥’ will have to seek out A♥- if for nothing else, than to maintain cover.) A♥ seeks true Black Joker; Penalty Round Imminent. A♥ sends J♥ to return to Q♥’s hand and rest of ♥ Suit to play. A♥ places A♦ in position; places Q♦ in pinch position. Still unaccounted for: K♣. K♣ shows up when ready and not a moment before. Expect in seventh Round if not seen in sixth.

 

Penalty Round: Intercession via Q♠. A♥ and A♣ come to terms. A♥ accepts Fate of Q♠. (I can’t fix her. Loving someone does not cure them of their mental illness.)

 

Seventh Round- finale. A♥ discards A‘♥’; A♣ revealed. A♥ discards Q♠; Q♠ returned to deck. Q♥ returns Hearts suit to play. A♠ and A♣ reunited. A♠ and A♣ introduced each other and to Hearts suit. K♣ will show up sometime during this round, if not in sixth; expect complications.

 

Game, set, match. Oh, Mother. You’re no match for me- you’re not even close. (You don’t understand all that? Too bad. I’ve got no time to teach little chicks how to play Memoria.)

  
  


We leave the living flames and return to twilight streets.

Perona’s cloak ripples from it’s blazing pinks and shining blacks to a dull, furling grey.

Being back in the mist is a cloying, aching thing; it pours and billows around us, snarls through us, sucks the life from our lungs. Having traded Fair- and soon to again, now that I have an idea of how things are to go- I can now make good on a promise.

For hopefully the last time I ever have to say something like this, I am not the crew’s musician. But I am the crew’s scout- and I always get there first. In this case, I actually got here when I was something like four years old.

I am also the crew’s- the phrase is sewing professional, and I do far more than just stitch cloth- and in this case, the crew pretty desperately needs a sing-along.

I unsling my pipa, make sure it’s tuned, and start playing. I don’t actually sing it- I don’t actually know the words- but I do play it as we walk. It’s been a long time since I’ve actually played pipa, so it’s maybe not as… smooth, as smooth as it could have been. Thankfully, after a moment, the sound of the city changes- we walk through drunkenly tilting spars of old masts, over and under ragged sails, through billowing curtains that serve to dampen some sounds and funnel others until we turn down a certain side street that has no real name, but there on the bric-a-brak hillock there sits a lonely skull with a cute hat and a pink door. I’m joined in my playing by [ a piano ](https://youtu.be/cqBKMGuZC6I). That’s Mr. Brook.

In the song echoes others, who sang before.

The songs of those we haven’t met yet, friends we haven’t made.

The baby whale who squeaked along to the beat.

And me, who can only hum it.

My crewmates pick up the tune and carry it, and us, all the way inside.

 

I met Mr. Brook when I was… four, five- maybe? Mother had brought me to pick a fig from the Grave Tree, but I ran instead, and I got very, very lost.

I met Mr. Brook.

Imagine- a soft bodied girl, who hadn’t done enough of anything yet to know to wear long sleeve shirts in cool places, curly hair all tied back long, long limbed but a bit awkward. Still hadn’t decided who she was gonna be, didn’t know her own mind- and had just realized that the one who proclaimed herself her ounadam was nothing like an ouna at all. It was a terrifying moment for me- the shock of that realization, that I would never be what my Mother, my dam, wanted me to be- it was so- I was so-

Overwrought? Distraught? Something, something so awful it was all I could do to run without tripping- I realize now that I stopped by hiding under one of Perona’s tables, back when she thought she would cook to make the money she needed. Flatop, seated four- I was four, because next year was-

There was me, under the table cloth. I pressed my hands to my mouth, trying my hardest not to let anyone outside the white curtain of the tablecloth know of my flush of sentiment. I was- I was a sensitive little girl, because I came into the Knowing very young and I didn’t have Knowledge to back it up yet, and… Madam called it Sentiment and tried to quash it out of me. -How, exactly, are you supposed to stop hearing when you aren’t deaf?

Tch. I’m getting annoyed.

 

The only thing I really remember- more than anything else, I remember taking measurements for Mr. Brook, and sewing him a new shirt. It was a simple thing- not much more than some striped fabric Perona had that she let me use, a few buttons from her plain black section, and the sewing machine- which she ran for me, as my legs weren’t quite long enough to kick the pedal.

I couldn’t stand his ratty old shirt, all rotted away- the sight of it… when he had been so kind to me, the fact that all he had to wear was a ratty old shirt-

At the time, I didn’t know how to speak anything other than Schee; I could understand what he was saying, but I couldn’t say anything back- so he had to calm me down by singing. And he did, is the thing.

I never forgot his kindness- and, because the world is quite possibly the size of a thimble, I never forgot the song he played either. I did forget the name of his baby-whale friend, but not the fact that Perona- proud, fiery Perona- took a huge chunk of her savings to ensure that Mr. Brook’s crewmates could be laid to rest somewhere green.

There’s no stone marker, nothing- semipermanent. Perona didn’t have enough money, then.

I suppose, sometimes, lost souls cling to each other- and Perona… without her _fanila_ , without her siblings or her _faunadam_ \- she had no one to cling to at all, except her own Hope, and, eventually, the repayment of kindness. Maybe one day she’ll realize that kindness isn’t something you can really repay?

But you can pay it forwards. The kindest thing I can think of to do for Mr. Brook is to take him someplace… alive. Someplace that isn’t a giant graveyard, full of ghosts.

Everybody’s house is haunted- but maybe he could move somewhere the ghosts are all still inside people?

 

So yeah, the crew is all belting Bink’s Sake at about the top of their lungs. Perona is singing along as well- I really wish I could understand what they’re singing, but of course, I don’t. I’m a little too focused on playing it correctly.

Thankfully, when I let my strings fall silent, it’s because Mr. Brook is doing his solo. We all go through the curtain- a heavy, weighted net that opens into a smokey room. A bar? Perona’s bar- Thriller Bark. _Right_. The back garden is where-

Floria is all graveyards, and I’m not saying that to be funny, or cute. Every green space is home to the graves of- whoever didn’t mind being buried there, really. Most children here don’t think much of playing in the graveyards- why would they? The dead here would never hurt them. (Walk over solid streets in certain districts, and you’ll hear the steady echo of tiny graves where babies were buried. Syreenes treat their dead just a little bit differently from the rest of the Fae.)

I sit myself on a stool near the piano where Mr. Brook is playing.

I wait patiently.

Captain is basically crawling out of his own skin with excitement. I catch Bryony’s eye, call her over with a jerk of my chin.

Mr. Brook told me all about himself. I guess I have one of those faces that lets people tell me their innermost secrets? I mean- Aradia (Spadille) can figure out someone’s life story and act accordingly, but people just outright tell me their secrets. It’s weird. Helpful, in this case, but weird.

 

Mr. Brook’s secret lifestory is something like this: fifty years ago or so, there was a crew of musicians and music lovers called the Rumba Pirates who decided to leave their kingdom and sail the world in search of the Best Music. One day in Wes, their ship was followed by a baby Island Whale that had gotten lost. Being a man of compassion, Mr. Brook suggested to his captain, Yorki, that they play some music to cheer the upset whale. (The song we’re still singing, in fact, and the song I’m playing along with on my pipa.) The next day, Mr. Brook and the rest of the Rumbar Pirates discovered that they had a crew pet- a baby Island Whale that Mr. Brook named Laboon. When the Rumbars decided that their adventuring days in Wes were done, and it was time to adventure on the Line, they also decided that the Line was no place for a baby, even a baby Island Whale. However, when they went over the mountain, Laboon followed them. Captain Yorki asked Doctor Crocus to look after Laboon for them, and the Rumba’s promised to return to Laboon one day, singing the same songs they always had.

Unfortunately, disease and disaster have whittled the Rumbar Pirates down to one man- Mr. Brook. His old ship was scuttled some five years ago by the alkonost salvagers; at the time, Perona was working as a salvager. She’s the one who gave the order to scuttle his ship, not realizing that his crewmates were in coffins in the hold. Upon realizing this, she immediately ordered the corpses retrieved and buried with proper honors, and paid their burial fees without prevarication- as it was her that had disturbed their rest, it would be her that would provide them with a new, and finer bed. (Before we fled for the Sky, Fiddler’s Green was a funny old way of saying Floria. A green place, where sailors dreamed of dying. A green land, full of peace- and people wonder why the Fae are so adamant about not allowing just anyone into it?

Why do you think Fae so zealously guard the treasure in their hills?)

Since the world is actually the size of a thimble, I don’t feel much guilt in doing this.

 

“Yo-hohoho, Yo-hohoho~!” and Mr. Brook stops quite abruptly. I carry the ragtime melody for a moment, and then I change the song.

“-When I see the way you look-

Shaken by how long it took-

I could do about anything, I could even learn how to love-

Like you~

[ I’d love me like you.. ](https://youtu.be/5PjDQOPrHJA).”

“...Little Fairy Girl?”

“My name’s Mab, actually. I _did_ Promise I would return, and with news of your friend; and so I have.”

“Did you really? Because it sounded like something else entirely-”

“I couldn’t speak Common yet, but yes- that’s what I said. I understood everything you said, too, remembered it years and years later- not when it would have been, say, _useful-_ but… that baby whale friend of yours, his name is Laboon, right?”

“Oh- yes, little Laboon.”

“Captain, you wanna tell him about it or should I?”

“Neh, Mab- I’ve got this.”

 

So I play a medley of songs.

Perona brings out a tray of her special semi-spicy hot cocoa; melting chocolate frothed with whole milk, a generous amount of cinnamon bark- freshly milled, I know that whirring sound- and a dash of cayenne pepper; considering the bouquet, probably added very last. It’s a lovely brew- I take a mug and take a sip, letting the music fade away under the noise of Captain explaining to Brook the circumstances of his meeting with Laboon.

 

I finally figured out why I kept not giving Sanji his handkerchiefs- I was raised to always have three of them on my person, just in case. You know, one’s a snot rag, and the other two will see you through a bloody moment in a pinch? So in my new sewing room I made a run of thirty or forty of them, put Sanji’s on his shelf- laundered and fresh, of course- and I made myself some linen hankies. And, well, you know my policy about making anything- and I don’t like being exclusionary, of course, so… Today, I was carrying four handkerchiefs. I hand Mr. Brook the hanky I realize now I made for him- [ black with white embroidery ](http://gildedlilystudio.com/image/cache/data/Black%20Handkerchief%20White%20Embroidery-500x500.jpg). I’ve a whole stack of them for myself on the ship- and I stuck a stack of them in with the rest of the crew’s things. Usopp seems to be carrying his, as does Zoro, Nami, Robin, and surprisingly- or maybe not- Franky. Ignoring normal convention, I make my handkerchiefs to the midwife standard swaddle size. Because you only have to deliver one set of triplets to start carrying the big size of hankies to be used as swaddles. That shirt was never the same again.

I finish my drink and play some more- an instrumental introduction to an old standard.

I had to make my pipa a new bridge, so I made it like the bridge on a zither- adjustable, to change the key. On this particular pipa, I can actually move the bridge enough to approximate a lap-zither. This is important because I can play the baseline and the melody at the same time.

The conversation tapers off eventually, and Brook finishes his sobbing out of fifty… five? Maybe seven, fifty-seven years of anguish. I can’t quite mimic the sound of a banjo or shamisen- it’s not that kind of instrument. However, a pipa is certainly adaptable enough to play in that mountain-way, and the plucked string style of playing, rather than strumming, is of course the standard.

I can also whistle while I play- so I start with the baseline and then… [ Mr. Brook sings with the fullness of his voice ](https://youtu.be/B9FzVhw8_bY). I join him in the second verse- and continue to harmonize as the song goes on. Robin and Franky, at least, have heard this one- they snap along as is appropriate. Mr. Brook lets me have the second and fourth verses. I whistle the song out, keep playing little arpeggios and riffs on the tune; Mr. Brook picks up the mood. -An arpeggio is a liquid chord- it’s where you play each note of a chord in sequence instead of all at once.

The music flows like water.

We spend the rest of the day before Samhain playing music with Brook.

 

I take a rest early on- roll my fingers together, rub the blood back into my palms.

It’s been a while.

Bryony unslings her console and mixer and samples music from the goings on- she’s going to have a fun time with everything she’s gotten. Mark pulls out my flute- okay, we’ll have to talk about that later- and softly pipes out a counter melody on some of the simpler tunes. Hmm. Not bad. I’ll teach him to read music, or maybe put Mr. Brook on it? Because, you see, Captain likes him- Mr. Brook, I mean.

His Fate is sealed. Aside from the obvious.

 

“Ah, to hear of my dear friend Laboon; to know he’s still alive, waiting for me still- why it makes my chest positively gooey with emotion. Even though I don’t have a chest. YOHOHOHOHOHO SKULL JOKE, SKULL JOKE.”

 

Skull joke indeed, old man. Skull joke indeed.

  
  


[ Perona’s bar ](https://lisahannett.files.wordpress.com/2015/10/times-scare-nyc2.jpg) is actually the lowest level of a tavern inn. Mr. Brook is her lodger- and has been a lodger in Thriller Bark for… five years, she says. She’d know. She also says that if I’m going to the Grave Tree, it’d be best to do it tomorrow, when the normal Rules of Fate are not so set.

Anything can happen on Samhain. Anything.

Because, see, here’s the truth of things- Perona has more of a right to the position of Queen than I do; the Court would certainly like her more. Perona doesn’t want anything to do with the position- as I recall, she wanted to be a fashion designer; would have been one by now, if she hadn’t gotten so fixed on finding her dead _fanila,_ on paying reparations for something she couldn’t have known would be destroyed- Honor’s a funny thing, in Skua.

The reason I ran instead of picking my Fate like my Mother wanted is because I knew for a fact that Perona already had the Fate She would have wanted me to pick. Which means, of course, that I couldn’t possibly have picked the Fate She wanted me to pick, as it’d already been picked. “Ghost Pepper” Perona has had her Devil Fruit ability- the Hollow Hollow- since she was six; you can’t eat more than one of the things. So this is the kind of pact made between a very young child and a woman who’s got nearly no Hope left- sealed with a clasping of fingers and a tearful smile. ‘I’ll come back for you- I’ll find your Folks, and I’ll trade Fates with you. Just wait for me, Miss Perona!’

And, God help us both, she did. She waited sixteen years for my return. And so I will keep my promise. It’s only the worst kind of Fae- not a Fae at all- that doesn’t keep their promises.

  


Curling up with Sanji on a bed that doesn’t sway is a little weird. When I settle into the bigger, slower swaying of the Graveyard Island- I kiss him, my husband. Suck his lower lip between mine, warm languid motions; we enjoy the last, slow, sweet round of lovemaking we’ll be able to partake in for two whole days. We fall asleep, snuggled together.

 

And Samhain comes to Floria in the Night.

  


_Corn has been shucked,_

_grain has been threshed,_

_herbs have been hung to dry._

  


I’ve never woken up next to a boy before; we don’t have boys in the dorms at school, and I try to spend as little time with Titania as I can. Aradia’s alright, but she’s such a try-hard, it’s annoying-

Ah.

I think I’m in Floria- the mist billowing at the window has that certain… certain- it means ‘I don’t know what’, but in Warm Norten… Ugh, forget it. Floria’s mist is the only kind I’ve ever seen like that, though.

The boy has hair like the inside of a lemon, all yellow-white. His skin is very pale, like… like mist at sunrise, maybe? Not the blank white of it, but when you dye fabric deep orange, forget the mordant and wash the dye out; that pale orange pink color, with the natural fabric’s own pale pale brown intact underneath the color. His lashes are dark, and his nose is squared. His lips are a little chapped, and his eyebrows are- curly? Hmm. He’s- whimpering.

He’s having a nightmare.

_Scared!_

 

I wiggle closer to him, nuzzle my nose against his; sneak a hand up and draw his lemon-hair aside, press my naked forehead to his. I [ hum ](https://youtu.be/woa9LH-WrWo) so that the sound is ringing from my chest and nose. I used to do this for Spadey all the time, back when he was still my brother and didn’t try to hurt me for showing affection. (I don’t know why he’s pretending to be a girl, he doesn’t- he’s not a girl? And even if Mother believes that he is a girl, I know he’s not. He’s going to hurt himself very badly, and- he won’t let me help him. I don’t understand why he won’t let me help him.)

Lemonhead has calmed down a lot; when I wrapped my arms around him, wrapped my wings around him, he went stiff- but I think he’s coming out of it, because he’s hugging me very hard now. It kinda hurts, actually.

 

He’s wearing- cook’s clothing? White double breasted jacket- thick cotton, cloth buttons. Black and white houndstooth cloth; thick white socks. Where are his shoes? Oh, he’s letting go now- I take away my wings from the hug, loosen my arms. He could shove me away easily now. His eyes are open- ah! They’re blue! Like sapphires or the sea!

  


“You’re alright now, Sanji. I won’t let the Nightmare eat you.”

 

* * *

 

So I fell asleep doing the dishes after dinner service. It’s not the first time that’s happened.

While I slept, I dreamed of that fucking shitty rock in the middle of the ocean. That’s not new either.

What was new was hearing- a voice. There weren’t words, but there was… music? Someone humming, holding me- pressing their face into mine, breathing slow, hugging me. I hugged them back and when I woke up from the nightmare turned dream, I was hugging a girl.

[ She ](https://gyazo.com/3b34157fa2f13402d8ff9dd6b32c9614) has brown hair, brown skin- she’s wearing a pale brown- dress thing? No, it’s a skirt, and a cropped shirt. She’s maybe my age, maybe a year older; string beany, not much in the way of curves- but she’s… cool? Cooler than I am to the touch, and kind of nice to hold. Her skin is smooth and very soft, and her face is- red? Blushing, she’s blushing- she said something but I only half heard it, and she said it in Skuan besides; I don’t speak much Skuan. I understood some kind of ‘you’, ‘Nightmare’, and my name, Sanji. And- wings- nope, not thinking about that. The answer is “don’t think about it.”

-Is this what the Shitty Old Man meant when he said you’re supposed to protect women because they bring out the best in men? I- don’t get it, exactly.

But I’m starting to want to.

She smells like vanilla and I feel warm in her arms. Like, warm on the inside.

We watch each other for a while; she falls back into a doze, but I haven’t let her go and neither has she- I don’t want to let her go, I don’t want to stop holding her. I don’t ever want to let her go.

  
  


Skuan Girl follows me into the Kitchen.

It’s not one I’ve ever been in before- and Skuan Girl is wearing... soft shoes. They’re cute- she has pretty ankles- but... normally I wouldn’t let her into the kitchen. ...But she’s also a full two heads taller than me and can reach into the higher cabinets without having to jump. I won’t let her cook at the stove though, that’s Man’s work. Women shouldn’t have to work over hot stoves.

I checked the fridge- a basket of duck eggs, white miso, chives, butter, three pounds of bacon. I have a feeling that I’m going to need everything for breakfast. Skuan Girl is making six- no, eight cups of rice in a rice cooker. Hm. I guess we have the same kind of instincts.

Skuan Girl grabbed the miso and started making a soup- oh, Miso Soup, of course, Rice and Miso, duh. I start chopping scallions; she puts on a kettle for… tea? Tea. Right. I start cooking the bacon; she starts cracking the duck eggs and thrashing them with a wisk- good, good. I take the bacon off the griddle, set it on a drying rack- and she poured the grease out? Oh! Duck eggs, not chicken- of course! Scramble the eggs, and she’s getting plates and bowls down- and people are coming down the stairs. We woke up just after sunrise- Mab’s a good assistant in the kitchen, even if she is improperly dressed for the work.

 

Wait a second-

 

* * *

 

-why am I twelve? I’m wearing clothing I would have worn when I was twelve- I’m twelve, I remember because that was when I had menarche- uuugh, no, no, I need- I need to use the toilet. If there’s one thing I’m glad of, it’s that Bellmere was able to teach me this before Arlong- uuuugh. I forgot how bad the cramps used to be, ow, ow, ooow. Ooough. Gas.

Okay, that’s better. Wipe everything, rinse- this inn has a bidet? Nice! -wipe again. Sanitary napkins under the sink. Oh, these are the ones with snaps, cool- and that’s that sorted; the red chunks didn’t get to my panties.

 

I smell miso and eggs. Breakfast?

Wash my hands, wash my face; go outside and grab Zoro from where he’s about to walk up the stairs. He’s wearing a uniform for a dojo, has his white sword and two shinai strapped to his back.

A cackling trio of Luffy and Usopp and Mark come caroming down the stairs. I get spun around in the three’s passing and almost trip backwards down the stairs but Zoro grabs my arm and pulls me tight to his chest and shoves his back to the wall. He’s breathing like he just ran all the way from Cocoyashi Pier to the Feed Store on the far side of the Rice Road, and then ran all the way back.

He’s pressed his face into my hair, and slid down so we’re both sitting on the landing, far enough to the side that people can still walk past us if they need to. A baby… a baby opera clown comes carefully down the stairs, her butt thumping with a soft _pamp_ sound on each step. Behind her carefully wobbles a little dancer, her steps unsure and tentative. Taffy, Bryony.

Eventually it’s just me and the wetspot on my shoulder, where Zoro was crying. I carefully turn around in his arms, and hug him back. He tightens his hold on me; his face is red and there’s little trails of snot coming out of his nose.

 

“Zoro, are you alright?”

“Hm? Oh- sorry Nami, yeah. I just- my friend died falling down the stairs, and I didn’t- I didn’t want you to get hurt like she did. Sorry, I-”

“Oh. I’m sorry about your friend, Zoro. I’m sorry you were scared. We can keep hugging.”

“Uh-”

“Keep hugging me Zoro. Or I’ll raise your interest to 1000%.”

“Okay.”

 

He hugged me until he stopped crying, and I hugged him back. Then, he let me go, and stood, and thumped down the stairs too quickly for me to say anything. The back of his neck was pink. Does Zoro-? He vanished down the stairs too quickly for me to ask him.

Robin and Franky came down from higher up, followed by the tiniest Chopper I’d ever seen- he has spots on his fur, oh my goodness- and… Teenage Fleshy Brook?

What the hell?

 

* * *

 

“Well, shiver my timbers- it’s Mr. Brook!”

“Yohohohoho- hello, Little Mab.”

“Hmhmhmhm! So- since we’re all here, and you’ve been here longest, would you mind taking the crew around town? I’ve got some stuff I need to take care of.”

“...Would it happen to be what sent you into such a wailing as a child?”

 

I nod. Mr. Brook nods.

 

“I could probably manage that, Mab.”

“Thank you, Brook. -Perona, you’re up early...?”

“Ugh, don’t remind me- but it’s best we get this done before the lines become horrendous.”

“Yup.”

“Neh, Mab, what’re you up to? -Also, why are we all cute-n-little?”

“I’m going fruit picking with an old friend. -It is a Mystery happening in a Mystery Place, Captain.”

“Oh. Mystery! Okay, have fun with your friend.”

“Mmhm.”

  


I duck the punch Nami half-heartedly throws at me, press a kiss to an extra-blushy Sanji’s cheek, and grab my pipa and my spear before Perona hooks her arm decisively through mine and drags us both out the door into the bright, green-smelling world of Floria at Samhain. I have just enough time to wave goodbye to everyone before I have to turn and start running to keep up with Perona’s startlingly fast walking pace.

The mist is all but gone, skinny wispy stuff- like someone’s barbecuing down the street and all that’s left is a faint haze of smog. Everywhere, the riot of glowing gemstones and gold and pearls competes with explosions of blossoms.

There’s laughter, and the smell of fried sweet-bread dough; [ carousel ](https://youtu.be/edmFDKO_ejI) music plays faintly. I clasp my hand tightly to Perona’s and follow her through suddenly sprouting midways- Fair games and wandering performance artists bring Floria to a wild and strange kind of transient life. Long stilts dressed in strange fluttery costumes and with women dressed like tall birds dance across the streets.

  


Somewhere on Floria, there is a fig tree. Sitting at it’s base is a [ Sage ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/97/40/2d/97402d3a534eb2bd104b9c9f3d146d5e.jpg) , carved- or are we carved from them, all still and moss covered. No one, as far as I know, speaks of or to the Sage; but the tree fruits all year round. Perona gives me a boost up to the lower branches; I climb until I find a whole, ripe fig. I pluck it from it’s branch, climb one handed back down the tree. Perona gives me the fig fruit she picked, all those years ago, when she was a child too. It’s still fresh, after all this time. It’s dark purple, covered over in tiny golden swirls; it turns green where fruit becomes stem. I look Perona in her flat, black eyes. We raise the fruits of _Fate_ , Floria’s Tree, to our mouths. We eat them. Perona enjoys her fruit of Fate. I do not. So it goes.

My mind bubbles and expands- an entirely new sense unfurls like a dark flower. I remember what Perona told me- the best way to find out what your Devil Fruit does is to have sex with someone beautiful or to fight. If I was going to have sex with someone- not to say that Perona isn’t beautiful, she is- but if I was going to have sex with someone beautiful, it’d be Sanji. I think I prefer guys- nothing wrong with women, I just like men more.

But right now, we can’t- because Ariel Morgan is dead, really, she just… doesn’t have a grave. So is Kostecki the Deathless. I love Sanji a lot- but I really, **_really_ ** don’t think he wants to be possessed by Kostecki while _I’m_ possessed by Ariel- those two were unhappily married and it’s better not to tempt that kind of intrusion.

 

Which means- I have to fight Perona now.

 

Here’s the breakdown of the fight; Perona fights much like Spadille does, which means she uses lower powered assaults first to judge skill level.

Her first barrage is usually made up of low powered Geists which shoot Negative Hollows at her opponent like bullets. Dodging them is a matter of knowing exactly where my heart is- at our levels, only a direct strike to the heart by one of her Negative Hollow Bullets will actually matter.

When viewed from an angle that isn’t, you know, her angle of attack, I’m sure the various Bullet Curtain Hollows look very mesmerizing. I was too busy dodging and figuring out how to return fire to take note.

**Umbral Bullet Curtain!**

After the low-powered Geists take the field- and are subsequently shot off the field- Perona attacks using her Fetch, Kumashi. Ostensibly a raccoon with attitude, I don’t know what Kumashi really is, other than her… servant. Familiar? Something. It’s a pain in the ass to fight, always shooting icy disapproval at people. Another round of slightly stronger Geists, before Perona herself goes on the offensive.

Perona isn’t actually all that strong. She’s just- strong enough, I guess. I can defeat her- but oh god, that was a lot of dodging. Eventually, I was able to get a handle on the delicate thin Shadows of her Hollows, put a grip on her own Shadow, and throw her to the ground.

Whirling snap of spear slices through her last gasp barrage of Danmaku Hollows; the keen edge of my spear’s blade presses against her neck.

 

“Do you concede?”

“Not yet.”

 

The press of a Hollow against my back. The rustle of shadowy spears, pressing over every inch of her shaded skin-

 

“Do. You. **Concede?** ”

“...Yes.”

“Okay.”

 

And that’s the end of it.

Bleh, sweaty.

I’ve fogged up my glasses too, let me just- oh, hey, it’s my crewmates.

 

“Hey guys.”

“ **WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?** ” they shout.

“Practice for- Aradia, correct?” says Perona.

“Yup. You’ve gotten much better- I didn’t actually have to really use my new power until the very very end, which is- just. You’ve really improved, Perona!” I say.

“Mm. You have a name for that move yet?”

“Ah, no- I barely have a handle on my range with Shadows now, and I really wasn’t… hm.”

“So what did you do?”

“Um… hm. What did I do…?”

“Take a moment to work it out, Devil Fruits are a bit widgy on the first swallow.”

“Ah, right- do you recommend anything to take that taste out?”

“Fastest way right now would be to take a handful of dirt and eat it, Mab.”

“DO NOT EAT DIRT, MY LOVE, I HAVE SNACKS WITH ME RIGHT NOW- DON’T YOU DO IT.” shouts Sanji.

“OKAY YOU LOVELY MAN, BUT HURRY UP- DEVIL FRUITS TASTE NASTY AND THE DIRT IS LOOKING REALLY ATTRACTIVE AS A PALATE CLEANSER RIGHT NOW.” I shout back.

“WHY DID YOU EAT A DEVIL FRUIT, MY DARLING?” he says.

“SAME REASON I HAD TO GIVE CHIEF CONIS HER CROWN, SWEETEST HEART.” I say.

“Okay, here. Have some saltines, I don’t mind so much if you spit them back out- Devil Fruits are supposed to be nasty- have some water, too.” he says.

“Thank you. Mmphm. Bleh. Hmhmhm. I know what to call it- Umbral Pincushion. That’s what I used, Perona.” I say.

“Pfahahaha! Oh, wow- you haven’t changed at all, have you Mab?” says Perona.

“Hmmmm- I wouldn’t say _that,_ Geisty.” I say.

 

Perona nods, a bit sadly.

 

“Mm- so I heard that you’re going to kill Aradia...?”

“I am. -You wouldn’t happen to have Spadey’s old violin lying around, would you?”

“You know, it’s funny you should ask that- I _do_ , actually. Sold everything else from the Old Days- but not that. Well, and my sewing machine-”

“Of course-”

“-of course.”

“Well- I know how hard you worked, and I wouldn’t dream of simply taking it… how’s about a trade?”

“Oh?”

“Well- I was always a sewer, really, a stitcher of things. And I never really used- well. If you deem it fair, how about a measuring tape and shears in trade?”

“Oho? Well now- I could be persuaded. Why don’t you take your crewmates and retrieve your Trade goods; see what can be made of the last of the Day. It’d be best if you were off the island proper for the night- we’re Hunting, you see.”

“Ah. Thank you for telling us- see you tomorrow, for Trade?”

“Oh yes, tomorrow.”

 

And then she vanishes from my sight. I wait. Her presence fades about five minutes later.

 

“Okay we need to get back to the ship right now- Luffy don’t eat that, it’s moldy.”

“Wha- but I just picked it! It was fresh on the tree- how-?”

“There’s only so many people who can pick fruit from this tree, Captain. You aren’t one of them. It’s a Mystery Tree.”

“Mystery Tree!”

 

I bow to the Sage. The moss covered Sage lifts a palm in benediction, before returning to their stony contemplation.

Pandora is still tending to her Duty; and so must I.

 

I usher everyone out of the grove, pick up my feet and run back to the ship- hook a hand through Zoro’s and pull. At one point, I bodily lift and run with the slowest person- which turns out to be Taffy, this time. Aw, her wings are all soft and baby-fluffy! No, focus- back to the ship, back to the ship, back to the ship- Heave Brook into my arms and flutter onto the deck just before- Moonrise. The Edge Night’s Hunt begins. It won’t stop until Sunrise- and Samhain proper won’t end until Sunset. There are only so many nights it’s appropriate to Hunt in, after all- just the four. As the bloody-haired moon’s gaze falls on us, her red light turns the mists of Floria into something awful.

Sticky and cloying like incense burnt to cover the rank stench of rotting corpses; it starts low.

The wailing.

Bryony’s a syreene- in this case, in the case of a wild hunt, she will sing the Hunt Song. It’s- Spadille _isn’t_ tone deaf. Aradia _is_ . The reason he must have made her like that is because- because he's Skuan, there’s no… no encoding for him to _not_ hear the Songs and **_react_ ** there isn’t much time I need- I need I need I need I need I- I- I-

 

Bryony is [ Singing ](https://youtu.be/LzdhTGaWzec) now.

 

I smell blood, and salt. I taste blood. Cold fingers in mine, squeezing- I kept my promise I kept my promise I- I- I do not need to Hunt, I kept my oath I promised to kill him and I did she isn’t here she isn’t here I cannot Hunt I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I don’t do things that are pointless I don’t know where she is-

_find her_

I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I don’t want to I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry no I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry

_find her kill her_

I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry no don’t I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry stop I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry

_find her kill her make her pay_

I’m sorry I’m sorry oh no I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry no no no I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry no I’m sorry I’m sorry-

  
  


-Sanji.

Sanji has stopped one of my ears with the earplugs I made Nami as a joke. He stopped the other one, and he- he- he covered my ears with his hands too, he’s made it- quiet. He made the Song quiet; the moonlight is just red, now. We’re not in mists of blood.

He’s- crying? His tears gleam red in the blood-colored moonlight.

Brook is holding my hands. Brook's hands are all skin and bones. Even though he has no skin.

Skull joke, skull joke.

 

“Yohohoho. -I think we should go inside now, Little Mab.”

“I- yes. Bryony, someone needs to tell Bryony it’s not her fault, she didn’t do anything wrong-”

“Captain’s got her, Mab. Come on, _pchelka_ , come inside where it’s warm. Come.”

“Don’t- don’t let Mark or Taffy or Bryony off the ship, they’re not- they’re under no oaths, don’t let them-”

“Zoro’s got them both, come on. Inside _pchelka_ , come on, come. Follow me.”

 

I go inside where it’s warm.

Zoro has both arms around a too-still, nearly wild eyed Mark and a shaking Taffy. Taffy has splayed her fingers onto the table, is gouging lines and marks into it with her black-claws.

Luffy is wrapped around Bryony like a snake, rocking them both. She’s- crying. I can’t- no, I can explain this.

 

“This is the only time I will ever be able to explain this- except maybe to Spadille, when I find him. There was a time- after Pandora, but Before the Sea, when the World was Wild... In those Wild Days, the ones who lived in the Sky would gather together, on the Long Days and the Long Nights and the Thin Betweens, and they would Hunt. They would hunt the murderers, and the thieves, and the betrayers of oaths; and they would spill craven blood. The Fishing Birds would sing songs of blood-letting, come hither, go yon; the Bugs would chase and harry the prey, crushing them utterly; the Wind would confuse and disorient them, corral them in one place and make it so the prey could not run; and the Flying Birds would catch the stragglers out, snap unobservant necks and demoralize the rest. Snare, Deadfall, Pit, Noose. Thus was the Hunt.”

“That’s just a story, isn’t it?” says Zoro.

 

I shake my head.

 

“It’s only a story if it _stopped_ , Zoro.”

“The world isn’t wild, Mab.” says Nami.

“Skua doesn’t recognize the World Government as sovereign over **anything** , Nami. And I do mean anything- everything. Some things about the Fae aren’t… aren’t cultural. They’re- instincts. Sunken into our blood. I- I can’t say more, I swore I wouldn’t- Bryony, it’s okay-”

“I didn’t mean to- I didn’t mean to-” whimpers Bryony.

“It’s not your fault, Bryony. I should have taken more care to warn you. I should have- I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“ _Pchelka_ , your hands are bleeding. Let me clean them for you?”

“I- yes, of course.”

 

Sanji takes the first aid kit Brook has set on the table, opens it up.

Pulls out iodized cleaning solution, honey, absorbable suture thread and a curved needle- puts my stiffening hands into a bowl of warm water.

Chopper- oh, Chopper brought it. He’s shaking. He’s- given the kids a sedative of some kind, and he’s mixed a stiff drink for Nami and Robin is writing furiously in her journal, and- and Captain is looking at me? Dark eyes. No hat.

 

“Captain?”

He shakes his head.

“...Luffy?”

He shakes his head again.

“No one goes off the ship tonight. Captain’s orders.” he says.

Everyone nods.

  


Robin’s gasped; the screaming has started- and faintly, I hear someone begging for mercy before being silenced.

Nami’s slugged her tot of gin and tonic back like it was plain water.

Sanji is carefully rubbing his fingers against mine, washed the cuts with cleaning solution and packed each one- one, two, three, four- with thick globs of honey. Presses them into the holes in my hands, four between the lines that predict the paths of my head and my heart. Cleans and dresses the hole I poked between my life and my fate lines; gives my left hand to Chopper to stitch. Cold keratin fingers wiggle my palm to check if I need stitches. Chopper puts the suture thread and the needle back into the box.

No stitches, yay.

 

“...are Spadey and Aradia the same person?”

“No. They aren’t. I- if you really want to know, I- I can explain why Aradia exists at all, but… it will upset you.”

“Tell me.”

“-Harry Morgan is… not right. In the head, I mean. She’s the one Morganeers style themselves after, but what they don’t realize is that she had orders, she was- I… I can’t tell you, I’m under Oath not to tell you some things until after you discover them, I can’t even think about them in mixed company. **_I Promised_ **. But I can tell you- She was one of Gol D. Roger’s staunchest allies.”

“The Pirate King’s ally?”

“Yes. Her, the Heartbreaker- also known as Portgas D. Rouge- and Gol D. Roger gave the Marines absolute hell. Um- I, I can’t explain the details to you, you aren’t related- it wouldn’t be right-”

“Give me the summary. Like on the back of a romance novel.”

“...you read romance novels, Luffy?”

“There’s ‘romance’ in the description and on the spine, of course I do. Summarize?”

“Oh- um. Well. Morgan and Rouge were lovers, but Rouge met Roger. Rouge picked Roger; so Morgan left. She tried to fall in love again, but it didn’t work- so she tried to accept Roger into her and Rouge’s relationship, but that didn’t work either. Morgan, Roger, and Rouge were married to each other anyway; but Rouge disavowed Morgan- she wouldn’t take Madam back. When Roger got sick, he allowed the Marines to kill him to take attention off of Rouge, who was pregnant with twins. Morgan didn’t know that she was having twins too- they synchronize, sometimes, when they’re inside the _dam_.

-Fairies will only steal children if they’re asked to, if they’ve promised to- we don’t just _take_ them. And if we agree to take a child, we’ll only take as many as agreed- and Morgan agreed to protect, to keep, **_all_ ** of Rouge and Roger’s children. She raised all of them but one- your brother, Ace. When a Fairy breaks a promise, they- they break themselves. Their honor, their minds- everything.”

“...Ace wasn’t supposed to be protected by Shitty Gramps.”

“No. He wasn’t. There’s- there’s nothing wrong with how you grew up, but… Spadille was… He’s _not_ Ace. He’s not Ace and Mo- She wanted _Ace._ And none of us were good enough- none of us were ever enough because _we_ ** _weren’t_** **_Ace_**. Do you know, Spadey is quite possibly the only person who could take the title of Yonko and make it a _legacy_? But he can’t- because of Aradia, he can’t do anything, he can’t go anywhere.

She- She- She would beat him with his own belt and say ‘if he was just more like Ace she _wouldn’t_ -’ but she was lying because she’d beat him for things I did and she’d beat him for things Titania did and she always made him wear the same goddamn belt and how in the hell was she to know what Ace is like she's never- never seen him and I- I- I hate her so much for what she did to my brother, I can hardly bear it. I- she struck flesh from bone with Spadey’s belt, and she was going to start using a whip if he didn’t shape up and that would kill him so- so- so I told a Lie and now Aradia exists and Spadey doesn’t.”

“-How did she know that Ace was called Ace?”

“I- Mystery. Magic. I can’t- sto- nngh. I can’t tell you- I can tell you that I made Aradia to protect Spadey, but- I know he can protect himself now, and, and the longer Aradia lives the worse Spadille is going to hurt himself trying to be something he’s just- Not- so I have to kill her- I promised Granny I’d kill Aradia, but I don’t know where she is- I made her when he was ten, she’s not- she’s. Broken. She was never meant to live this long, she’s not actually- she’s not real, Captain, but so long as she exists, my brother cannot be free. And I swore to kill her, besides.”

“...It’s okay that you can’t tell us everything.”

“Luffy?”

He shakes his head.

“...Captain?”

“It wouldn’t be much of an adventure if we knew everything that was going to happen- or everything that happened before, even. Sometimes… Sometimes, adventures are scary or boring or really dangerous or sad, but… that’s just fine. Caring isn’t an advantage if you don’t want to suffer, but you can’t live without suffering- and I want to live. I want all of you to live.”

 

I’m crying. Captain’s a good man.

 

“Now, what’s happening on Floria?” says Captain.

“Hunting. This I already explained a bit- but... They’re hunting murderers, and thieves, and betrayers- and I’ve done all three; or at least, the person I was did all of those, the person Aradia said I was- am. I- I can’t be in Floria at night, not this night, I mean. If- if you want to go back, you can. I just- There’s bounds to the Hunt. If your feet touch land, you’re in bounds. If you’re on a ship in the water, in the water at all, you’re out.”

“Ah. ...So, we go back tomorrow after the dawn?”

“Yeah. I mean- I think that would be best.”

“Okay. ...Neh, Perona’s a good friend, huh?”

“Yes. She is. Very proud and proper, but a good friendly rival.”

 

Captain smiled.

 

“Floria’s a nice place to sleep... not really somewhere to **_live_ ** though, neh?”

“I’d say so, Captain.”

“Shishishishi... Alright, here’s the plan. Tonight, we’re staying on the ship. No one goes back ashore tonight. After sunrise, we’ll go back ashore- you finish your business, we take a last look around, and then… we’d best be sailing on.”

“Sounds good to me, Captain.”

  


Sanji lights his mother’s candle, hands me his lighter; I light my brother’s and my son’s. Hand it to Zoro, who lights his candle. Due to the construction of these candles, they won’t spill or anything of the kind. What they’ll do is- they’ll burn for a few hours, and then the melted wax will snuff the candle. We have sandwiches for dinner, and the candles glow softly as we eat. It’s make our own sandwiches, tonight.

We’re tired- all of us, me, Sanji Robin Nami Zoro Luffy Usopp Chopper Mark Taffeta Bryony Brook- we’re tired; we don’t talk much as we eat, or maybe if there was conversation, I missed it.

We drink; Brook plays a softer, quieter rendition of [ Bink’s Sake ](https://youtu.be/5QS2BNF7kjI) . There’s something restfully sad about it. I guess it’s a song to be played in good times _and_ bad times- I feel better for having heard it, either way.

Thick Florian mist curtains the Floria Hunt from the harbor; we all sleep through the night, if not peacefully, at the least- undisturbed. (And I _will_ find her First.)

 

* * *

 

_Behind a curtain of silencing mist, the sun rises red._

_A city hidden out on the sea, comes out to honor their Dead._

_Families laughingly dance through the town; they clean their altars and pray. They visit their tombs and clutch rosaries, and remember better days._

_From the edge of the city, they flee from the shore; the Hunt shall ride tonight._

_Remember the wrongs done over the year and take a moment to fight. (A moment to fight for what’s right!)_

 

 _In this ancient city built of ship’s bones, the living seem rather, well-_ **_dead._ **

_(Oh, yeah?)_

_The sun goes down, the air shakes with screams; the Syreenes howl, and Demons prowl, in this city on the sea._

  


_The caskets squeak, the trees will wheeze, the crypts all creak; and toes sepulchered for months and months in dust are wiggling off their crust, whoa._

_Shed your shrouds, slip your fingertips through the ground, get those catacombs open- here’s hoping you'll join us, everybody come on out!_

_(Yeah!)_

_What a lovely, moons-bright night for a Hunt; let’s quench the thirst for the blood of those who betray!_

_We'll dance until the moon’s light fades; ‘till then, Wrongdoers should be afraid._

_Candied pumpkins, sweet egg bread: we love making the Dead._

_Carpals, tarsals, vertabrae: that's us all clicking on parade!_

_I move without any muscles, my skull's a cavernous hall- Tendons are made for pulling, my friend, I don't need them at all!_

_Board the mariposas now!_

_Set sail for the quivering light ahead, we're descending on the town- the living we're scaring, Nightmaring in fright; they've waited forever to bring us together: We finally wake them up tonight!_

_Yock dehay! Yock dehay de yockity hum, we Demons are happy to say._

_Heaven is having a Hell of a time, skeletons on parade!_

_Flee the mausolea, fly sarcophagi- pandemon the plaza; Tiba-fibia-fie!_

_You ligamentary lifers, your fractured foolish plight: Pluck yourself from your gravesites tonight!_

_-_

_Goodnight my good children; now you must rest your heads,_

_You wouldn't want the Hunt to catch you missing from your beds._

 

 _“Go to sleep, Bryony. The Hunt does not cross water; we are safe on the Sunny. -And even if we are not,_ **_I will make it so._ ** _”_

_“Okay, Ma.”_

* * *

 

Before I go to sleep, I tuck a [ cheesefruit ](http://www.gardenbetty.com/2015/04/mallow-the-everywhere-edible-weed/) into my pocket.

Sanji and I hold each other all night long; no sex, just cuddles. Too- tired.

 

That night, we all Dreamed.

I Dreamed thus-

  


_Grapes have been pressed,_

_potatoes have been dug,_

_beans have been shelled._

  


[ I ](https://gyazo.com/cc68c9f2a1f2ebdd5e943ede625eac6c) woke up in my [ dorm ](http://i.huffpost.com/gen/1378392/images/o-MICRO-APARTMENT-facebook.jpg) . Outside, a storm raged- it’s _that_ night. The examiners- the people who examined the scene of the fire said it was a lightning strike that set the blaze but why then did I smell petrol- kerosene I smelled kerosene and sulphur and I pulled the fire alarm and jumped out the window and below is- is- water?

Why would there be ocean water here my dorm is nowhere near the sea I’m- I’m going to drown if I don’t find land there’s- a spit of rock, jutting out of the sea, swim that way that way that way the wave lifts me up and slams me into the stone I hold fast and climb the stone I climb the cliff up and up and up to find- a shipwreck? It’s behind me the shipwreck is sinking behind me and it’s pouring rain it’s raining so hard LIGHTNING IS SCARY AH AH AH- I’m under an overhang? There’s a big rock right in the middle of this sea-pillar and there’s an overhang and there’s a- there’s a- there’s a [ baby cook ](http://vignette3.wikia.nocookie.net/onepiece/images/d/db/Sanji_as_a_Child.png/revision/20130926170048)?

 

“Ah!” he screams as I burrow past him.

“Aaah!” I scream as lightning crashes behind me.

“AAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaauuuughaaaaaaaah!” we scream at the same time.

 

LIGHTNING IS STILL SCARY FUCK FUCK AAAAAAAAAAAAH- and I’m burrowing behind the babycook, my whole body shaking in terror my wings are all folded up and shivering inside my back am I crying AAAAAAAAAAAAH LIGHTNING AAAH AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH- babycook is hugging me and petting my hair, so I hug- him? Her? Them, I hug them back.

The lightning- EEEEEEEEEEEK- eventually ends, and we’re just two kids sitting under a rock on another rock in the middle of the ocean, hugging each other in the rain.

I’m still crying.

Am I whimpering or is that them? Oh, no- that’s them- it’s not raining? It’s bright. Sunny bright.

He’s- they’re a he, I know they are- won’t stop crying. I start [ humming ](https://youtu.be/19bBGxf5k6k).

Babycook calms down enough to look at me, teary eyed- his eyes are blue like the ocean, like the sapphires in the planting medium for the vanilla orchids they’re lovely his eyes are lovely and he’s- sad.

This place is making him sad.

I give him another hug, nuzzle against his neck his face press a kiss against the side of his mouth and he- and he- and he- and he- sighs he sighs and hums and nuzzles back into me and my hug and he’s- warm and bony but warm warm warm and firm to hug. I card my fingers through his inside-of-the-lemon colored hair, platinum blonde hair tug it back from his swirly eyebrows- SANJI!

 

“Sanji!”

“Wha-?”

“It’s me, Mab!”

“Mav- MAV!”

 

And now he’s hugging me really hard, as hard as he can. It kinda hurts, actually.

 

“What are you doing here Mav, you- you can fly, you should fly away from here _pchelka-_ ”

“I’m not leaving you here to suffer, Sanji.”

“I- I can’t. The Old Man- he’s stuck here too, I can’t-”

“We can take him with us too. Come on.”

“I- oh. -Oh boy.”

 

I pull Sanji behind me, out into the sunlight and the empty empty spar of rock in the middle of the sea. His hand keeps trying to get thin and bony in mine but that’s not what his hands are like I know I’ve held them he has the hands of a working cook and dammit that’s that. He overtakes me and pulls us forwards and around the side of the stone to see- a man with [ a braided mustache ](http://orig10.deviantart.net/bfc3/f/2010/094/6/6/one_piece___red_leg_zeff_by_jerryabistado.jpg)? And one leg, his other leg is- gone- or is it just bloody?

 

“Oy, Braidstache! Sanji won’t leave without you, so you need to come with us now.”

“Mav, oh my god-”

“Hm? Little Eggplant and- a drop of Honey? Wha-”

“Neither of you can stay here much longer, you’ve stayed nearly too long already so- so you should come with me now, I think.”

“Mav, he doesn’t have a foot-”

“We’ll help him walk, or he can use my spear as a crutch for a bit, but we have to _go_ Sanji-”

 

Braidstache laughs and laughs and laughs.

 

“I’ll take the spear, Honey.”

“Okay.”

 

I hand Braidstache my spear-

 

“Go ahead and lean as much as you want on it, you won’t break it. And now- follow me please.”

 

I take Sanji by the hand, nod to the carefully standing Braidstache- “His name is Zeff, Mav.”- Braidstache Zeff, and we walk to the edge of the cliff. (“Mav, oh my god-” “Hahahahaha-”)

I take the first step down and my foot hits the staircase by the garden wall the one that goes right up it. I step down onto it leading Sanji and Braidstache Zeff down the stairs into a silvery garden.

The sky is full of stars and a big, blue world. We walk on crushed seashells mixed with chunks of silver and scattered diamonds; in the distance, long grasses wave and rustle. There’s a willow tree and a- white stone grave. There’s [ a green haired boy ](http://vignette1.wikia.nocookie.net/onepiece/images/2/26/Zoro_bambino.png/revision/latest?cb=20130924164736&path-prefix=it) with two shinai and a worn out book and a bright white sword kneeling next to the grave, and next to him is a baby ninja with floofy black hair and- she, that’s [ a girl baby ninja ](https://gyazo.com/3e8eebf6aabbf1499c7bd0eb933134b4), she’s put her hand on the boy’s shoulder in a gesture of… comfort? Comfort.

Now he’s hugging her.

I walk up near the grave but not too near and kneel next to them in the shorter grass and tug Sanji down too so he’s sitting now and Braidstache Zeff is leaning against an- apple tree? Lots of ripe apples.

He picks one, tosses it at Sanji- I catch the one he threw at me, and then he’s cutting one open and eating it, leaned my spear against the tree. I tug tug tug on green head’s torn up sleeve. He jerks, and looks over at me- oh, he’s crying, oh no. I pull my walking around bag off, and pull out one of my hankies-

 

“Handkerchief.” and show it to him. “Spit.”

I hold it out. He blinks, then spits into the hanky.

I nod, and start wiping his face. Fold the hanky, wipe each eye, fold again- “Blow.”

 

He blows his nose. I fold it one more time, and put the used hanky in my bag- in a different pocket, because it’s dirty now.

 

“Hug time.”

“Um-”

 

And then I hug him. He squeaks a little, then hugs me back. I think I like Sanji hugs better, but this hug is nice too!

Braidstache Zeff is maybe choking on his apple- oh, no, just laughter. Okay.

Baby Ninja Girl is also looking sad, so I let the Green Sword Boy go and give her the huggy arms which is when- woah, okay, she’s upset, it’s okay, it’s alright, shh, it’s alright. Oh, she has yellow eyes, shshshshshsh, it’s okay, it’s alright.

 

“Why yis I h’a kit again I is not a kit-”

“It’s okay, we’re all kits here- except for Braidstache Zeff under the tree, but that’s alright-”

“Mav, where yis we?”

“Dunno. We should find everyone else, though, they’re probably upset too. You gonna let go, or…?”

 

Baby yellow-eye’d ninja shakes her head no no no. Okay. Just like #4 and #3 and #2- pull out the scarf, keep one arm around her at all times procedure is tie the ends together twist in a loop and-

 

“I can’t carry you on the front, sweetie. You gotta go on my back, okay?”

“...kay...”

 

She’s heavy, but the scarf is long enough to tie around her so she has support, legs go under the butt roll the feet until they’re flat to the earth lift the butt and we’re squatting um um **_right_ ** stand up now and we’re good. She’s heavier than #3 and #2 but not #4 she’s about the same weight as #4 bounce bounce all good. Feet under the shoulders and up, up up up-

 

“Graveyards are not suitable for snack breaks except in emergencies, up up up-”

“O-okay.”

 

Take a few steps, realize seaweed head is walking towards the apple tree. Sigh. Forgot.

 

“So, you have to hold onto the baby ninja to make sure she doesn’t go anywhere, ninjas are sneaky. Got it?”

“I- yeah, sure.”

 

Take Sanji by the hand, make sure Braidstache Zeff is following along- yep- onwards!

We walk through steadily closer and closer trees, until we come to a dirt road, and the sound of the sea going swoosh swoosh swoosh; there's a forest lining the dirt path and the path turns to cobblestones and the cobbles lead to a closed metal gate and there’s [ a black haired boy ](http://img01.deviantart.net/63a1/i/2015/104/e/a/usopp__kid__by_shinogekai03-d8cfcxt.jpg) standing on the shoulders of a red haired boy and they’re talking to a sad girl- oh dear [ the red haired boy ](http://vignette1.wikia.nocookie.net/onepiece/images/e/e9/Shanks_at_Edd_War.png/revision/latest?cb=20130525041518) can’t hold up the other one for much longer hang on- hup!

 

“Oof!”

“Uggh, you’re really heavy dude-”

“Auk!”

“Ugh!”

 

And Braidstache is laughing again.

Green hair is holding yellow eyes in his arms, Sanji is staring with a dropped jaw, sad girl is- dropping a key down? The boy in my arms catches it- it’s an old brass key with an orange ribbon on it, tied into a bow. Redhead boy scraped his knees- no, his hands. Ouchies.

Redhead is wearing a raincoat over a white tank top and a pair of black shorts, rope belt holding them up. Sandals. Newsboy cap. Boy in my arms has black-brown tank top, skull bandanna, green sash belt-aha. Slingshot in his belt. Brown shorts, green brown boots. The most nose-y nose ever.

I set him on his feet, pull the redhead boy up- his hands are scuffed, not bloody. Walk back over to the others-

 

“Everyone okay?”

“Yeah!” chirps baby ninja. “Who yis they?”

“I’m Usopp!”

“Mark, nice to meet’cha.”

“Mab, chairete!”

“Zoro.”

“Sanji.”

“Taffeta yis I, but h’you calls me Taffy, yis?”

“Zeff, brats.”

“-Hey! I’m going in to town- come through and get the crying girl out of the attic, she won’t open the door from her side, okay?” calls the sad girl.

“Okay!” shouts Usopp to the sad girl.

 

The sad girl vanishes back inside the window, draws a curtain shut. It’s late morning.

Usopp opens the door to the mansion, and we all go inside. Braidstache Zeff sits down with a huff on a bench, rolls his shoulder and arm; Taffy wiggles to be let down and pours Zeff a glass of water. Good girl, very sweet.

A reindeer in a pink top hat clops in through the door. There’s snow on his coat and his nose is blue. There’s a [ boy ](http://orig15.deviantart.net/fddf/f/2014/362/a/7/deer_boy_by_mousielove-d8bno12.jpg) now, kinda furry but kinda deer-ish too. Deer boy squeals when he sees us, then tries to hide behind a large blue and white vase. That’s not how you hide behind a vase, cute competent doctor deer boy.

“Calling me a cute competent doctor doesn’t make me happy you fuckin’ asshole!” shouts the deer boy while dancing around in obvious glee. Braidstache Zeff sniggers. Taffy bounds over to him. I leave her to it, and watch as Usopp, Zoro, and Sanji run upstairs. I look around- it’s just an antechamber in a mansion, nothing really special.

Oh, a first aid kit that might be useful I’ll just put it in my bag. [ A sniffly girl ](http://img05.deviantart.net/d7a4/i/2015/104/a/c/nami__kid__by_shinogekai03-d8ceom1.jpg) comes back- orange hair, green dress, sandals and a book. She’s holding Zoro’s hand and he’s- blushing? Well, whatever.

 

“Usopp, could I have the key please?”

“Uh- sure…?”

“See if you can find the back door as well, we need to keep moving.”

 

Pull the orange ribbon, flip it around and see it’s blue on the other side tie it back onto the key and watch as it turns silver and Usopp comes back and says-

 

“Found the back door, Mab!”

“Good. Let’s go, okay?”

 

And we go- this time Taffy is curled up on Mark’s back and holding deer-boy’s hand and Nami is leading Zoro and Sanji is holding my hand and Braidstache Zeff is thumping along with my spear again.

We go out the back of the mansion and into a small courtyard- oh, this is the outside of the Weaponer’s Complex, the sideyard that led to- that way, we need to go down the mossy stairs- watch your step, guys, it gets a bit slippery at low tide- [ silver gate with hard angled designs on it ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/99/ec/e2/99ece2ab73501a61a1b3eb98c79ebcc7.jpg) and key goes into the lock on the gate goes clink and open it by pulling it up not pushing or pulling and take the key out before slipping under it down wider stairs again to a black sand beach hard on the feet but good to train on and that way there’s a cliff over there and that way is the town black sand turns to tide pools teeming with brightly colored life and a train stop made of stone and a blue haired boy carrying a boat on his back on the train tracks- um.

 

“Hey! Super strong star-bro on the tracks, hey hey hey- what’re you carrying that there boat for?”

“Need to fix it wing-sis!”

“Something wrong with the hull?”

“No-”

“Keel?”

“No-”

“Mainmast?”

“No-”

“Decks?”

“No-”

“Rudder?”

“No-”

“Wheel?”

“No-”

“Sails?”

“No-”

“Rigging?”

“No-”

“Bro, is there anything actually wrong with that boat?”

“No. Oh. Huh.”

 

And he puts the boat in the water. It bobs gently, and floats away- it was only made of paper.

 

“I’m Mab! Chairete!”

“Uh- Franky! Super nice to meet you!”

“We’re going on an adventure- you wanna come with?”

“Uh- yeah, sure! Just a sec- you see that kid on the beach up ahead? I don’t think he’s doin’ so good-”

“Oh no-”

 

And then I’m running down the beach- oh god he’s covered in burns and he looks so- sad- [ blond hair blue suit napkin around his neck ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/b4/9c/3e/b49c3eb9fa544fe7ee7ecc61881057c2.jpg)\- check his neck check his limbs nothing broken- deer boy next to me-

 

“My name’s Chopper, I’m a doctor-”

“Okay, help him then-”

“Oh he doesn’t look too good Doc- I’ll make a stretcher for the li’l bro-”

“I have a sheet in my bag, would that be helpful..?”

“Yes- these burns are just scars, and he’s not too beaten up- still, best to put him on a stretcher until he wakes on his own.”

“Gotcha Doc-bro.”

 

I unfold the sheet and help Chopper move the blonde boy onto it, one two three onto the stretcher Franky made for him and Franky drags the boy back to the [ trainstop ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/9d/f3/76/9df37661cca9b21cf61de91b2b1a8794.jpg). We have to take a train into town anyway. I don’t really have anything to spend my money on- I don’t have time for hobbies or movies or games or anything like that and I don’t have friends either so I don’t mind paying for everyone this time because we need to go to town anyway and I think I might be the only one with enough money on me right now train tickets aren’t expensive but there are Sanji Zeff Zoro Taffy Usopp Mark Nami Chopper Franky and the Found napkin neck boy- ten people who need tickets and I have a train pass anyway so- oh there’s the train let me just- pull out a stack of money and buy ten tickets please- thank you.

 

“Everyone on- do you want train food, or city food?”

“Uh- train food. Snack time?” says Sanji.

“Snack time.” I say.

 

We have train lunchboxes. They’re just like I remember- curry over rice, fresh sliced fruit, and some plain yoghurt. Tea is free with purchase. Mm. Black tea. I buy a thermos of it for later. And we’re here- everybody out.

Franky keeps carrying the beach boy and Zeff still thumps along with my spear -everyone out.

 

We leave the nicer train station and walk through town, unconsciously then very consciously following the sound of a [ beautiful violin ](https://youtu.be/SKd0VII-l3A). Eventually we come across the player- Oh! It’s Mr. Brook! He’s standing on a crate that held pomegranates, and there’s an urn by his feet filled with coins. I wait until he’s finished playing to speak.

 

“Chairete, Brook! As usual, I find myself reaching for a skeleton joke, but unfortunately I had my funny bone removed as a child. It’d been irreparably broken after over-exposure to sax and violins, you see, and I’ve never really recovered since.”

“Hmm-? YOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO~ OHOHOHOHOHOHO! YOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO~!”

 

I smile. Sanji groans. I smile wider and waggle my eyebrows at him. He looks at me and realizes what I’m going to do, but not fast enough to stop me.

 

“I have grate jokes, but they’re all a bit cheesy.” I say.

“No.”

“Lettuce celery-brate this happy occasion-”

“Mmph. No.”

“-by having a gouda time on our adventure together. Sorry for the weak food puns- they’re never really stroganoff you know?”

“Pffffffft. No. No no no gnnk-” and then he had a giggle fit. I grin at him. Took me a while to remember, but I didn’t forget.

Sanji’s looking at me kinda- oddly- no, he wouldn’t.

Yes, he would.

 

“I know I should stop making sewing jokes- I’m really running out of material. But really, Mab, you should know by now- as you sew, so shall you rip.”

And I fall down I’m laughing so hard. Oh oh god I might actually- breathe. Breathe. Woo. Okay.

I compose myself and look Sanji dead in the eye.

 

“Sanji?”

“Yes, _pchelka?”_

“Olive you.”

“Pffft- th-thank you, love you too. You know, you always leave me in stitches-” and he’s down, Sanji is laughing until he cries. I follow him down.

 

Anyway, Brook is in our party now. Next member is- behind the flower display outside that bookstore, behind the fountain. Hmm. Tea break! I settle down on the low granite wall and pull a set of wooden mugs out of my bag. They’re carefully carved and smell faintly of- ugh molasses. Across the way a wall of terribly terrible sugar-byproduct the rolling bodies of drowned lionbirds that screamed and screamed before someone took pity and shot them dead and the rumbling crash of buildings being shoved off their foundations by a wall of terrible decisions. Oh god that stinks and it stank like that for three months and every summer on the hottest days it would stink like that and Sanji is holding the mint tea under my nose. I breathe it in. Minty minty goodness.

 

“What- what happened?!?” says a small voice.

“Oh- There was a depository for molasses, that was to be turned into ammunition... It wasn’t built or maintained properly, and one day, it exploded. The rivets took out the bridge, the sheet-metal walls crunched the fire station ferry, and the molasses wave killed something like thirty five people and nearly forty lionbirds all counted. Broke my wing, too, that’s what the big thing on my back is- it’s a splint. Tea?” I say.

“Um. Sure?”

“Here.”

 

I hand the [ small black haired girl ](http://img10.deviantart.net/faac/i/2015/104/6/4/nico_robin__kid__by_shinogekai03-d8d746h.jpg) a cup of tea. We drink it together. The rest of the adventure party drinks their tea. We observe the horrible terrible flood of tainted molasses ooze past. Sanji whines in a horribly pathetic way.

 

“You can’t eat any of it, Sanji, it’s got dead bodies and shit in it and it’s been sitting in a giant steel drum that _I actually_ **_saw_ ** _birds shitting in,_ don’t you fucking do it.”

“Uurgh. But- why would they **do** that-”

“It wasn’t meant for consumption, it was meant for ethanol production and eventual use in a munitions factory. So don’t even think of eating it, it’s no good for food.”

“Fine.”

“Drink your tea, Sanji.”

“...kay...”

 

Braidstache Zeff is laughing again.

 

“Um- could I have some more tea, please?”

“Sure. Sorry- who are you?”

“I’m- Robin. My name is Robin.”

“Chairete! You should come with us, we’ve nearly got everyone we’re going to get for this adventure.”

“Um- but don’t you know who I am?”

“Nope!”

“Oh. Uh- well, okay.”

 

[ Forewards, _oneiroi!_ ](https://youtu.be/eAoDupdMOFk) We continue into a slum made out of garbage and Robin is shuddering at the smell but there is no smell except the smell of paint and tar and that heat smell from big stage lights and it’s flapping flapping silk flapping it looks like it’s on fire except nothing is burning and the blue boy is whimpering but Franky is holding him and rocking him he’s still sleeping but the flames aren’t- crying- there’s [ a boy ](http://static.zerochan.net/Portgas.D..Ace.full.689695.jpg) crying in a pit of red and yellow silk and he looks like- aha. I know where to go now. I slide down on a long streamer of red yellow silk and it tears so I fall but it’s not that far I land on my feet and touch the crying boy and he looks at me and he’s got a face I know but he’s not-

 

“It’s not real.”

“W-wha-”

“It’s just silk, look-”

 

I show him the scrap in my hand. He stares at the fabric, and at me, and says-

 

“What about the heat?”

“Stage lights get very hot.”

“The flicker of the flame?”

“That’s just the way the fabric’s shaped and some fans running below it.”

“What about- what about Sabo?”

“Um- I don’t know who that is. I do know this is no place for a small person, it’s entirely too jagged and stabby-”

“I can’t climb the walls though, I can’t get out-”

“Thank goodness I have wings then.”

 

And then I pick him up and fly back out of the pit into the false flames and he holds onto me so tightly and he shudders with terror and I land back with the rest of the party and I take my claws and slice down long strips of false flame and wrap wrap wrap them around the boy- Ace- who was crying and I say-

 

“Just remember Ace- they aren’t real. These flames are just fabric, they can’t burn you.”

“How- how do you know my name?”

“We’ve met before- my name is Mab, if you forgot- and more importantly, there’s only one person you could be, considering who you look like most.”

“Who do I look like?”

“Come with us, and see.”

 

We continue walking- Ace sees the delirious boy in blue and wakes him up- calls him Sabo. Do I know a Sabo? Nope.

We’re in a jungle now the red lights from the silk cast strange shadows those aren’t shadows those are beasts and there’s a fight there’s a fight- I stop. I cut a staff from the wood of the forest and say to Braidstache Zeff-

 

“I need my spear back now, please. Use this instead, okay?”

“Sure, Honey.”

 

I have my spear now and I’m stronger for it and then I pierce a trail through the forest passing giant beetles and deadly turtles and terrible carnivorous wolfsharks I helped them and they helped me kindness can be repaid in a favor for a favor and I round the last tree to see [ a small boy ](http://img13.deviantart.net/e121/i/2015/104/c/0/monkey_d__luffy__kid__by_shinogekai03-d8c9dt2.jpg) get eaten by a giant tiger and then he’s been swallowed in one bite oh no- Ace and Sabo have charged forwards with a roar and are eaten by the tiger I’m beaten to the punch by [ a dancer-girl with bundled hair and white clothing ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/eb/cf/4c/ebcf4c11c46754adca0723d1aa0bccc9.jpg) and only her bare fists and a snarl of fury on her face she kicks the tiger so hard it vomits up all the boys and then she punches the tiger in the head and blood splatters everywhere pink brains and white skull her eyes are huge and empty pools of blackness no white to be seen and then they settle to a heavenly blue and the regular arrangement-

 

“Chairete!”

“Swasdi! Ah, my cousin- do you have something to wipe faces with, he’s covered in tiger slobber and gut slime-”

“Uh- actually, yes- Mab, nice to meet you-”

“Bryony, same- c’mere-”

 

And Bryony is now wrangling her younger wiggly cousin into her arms and is carefully wiping gut slime off of him. Now she’s just hugging him? Oh, she’s hugging all three of them and saying “I’m so glad you’re okay I was scared please try not to get eaten by wild animals again where I can see are you sure you’re okay it’s okay if you’re not-”

 

“So is there somewhere safer we can go? I think we need a rest.” I say.

“Oh! Come to our treehouse!” says Luffy I’d know him anywhere his facial scar is distinctive.

“DAMMIT LUFFY-” “DAMMIT LUFFY-” snarl his pact-brothers.

“Good idea!” cheers Bryony.

 

And then without actually letting go of any of the boys, Bryony stands up and starts walking. Luffy tells her which way to go, and in short order we’re at the roots of a massive white tree with silver running up it’s bark. The leaves are underneath us silver green and soft like velveteen carpeting and-

 

“Up there?”

“Yeah! Neh, neh- are you all pirates?”

“Well, I am- I don’t know about everyone else though-”

“Join my crew!”

“I did already!”

“Oh- Mab! What’re you doing in my-?”

“Sssssshshsh! Mystery!”

“Eh?”

“Mystery Fight!”

“Oh!”

“Anyway, up we go.”

 

We all climb up- actually Bryony just jumps and I thought Braidstache Zeff would stay behind but he has a pegleg now and then we’re in a gazebo made of white wood turned soft yellow-gold with mineral oil and beyond- oh. So _that’s_ how it is.

 

I’m not a child anymore; the curtains don’t fool me unless I let them. I walk past the group of wax-figure looking men- no, that's just what they look like- okay- [ a blond ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/03/b9/b2/03b9b2e12a6826ff55fcc337c0e0ea35.jpg) with weird chin hair and glasses, and [ a young man ](http://img12.deviantart.net/4ffb/i/2012/179/d/f/edward_newgate__young__by_sturmsoldat1-d55798g.jpg) with a frowny face and long blonde hair, and [ younger ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/2e/79/f7/2e79f73fcfe464995782f8d58dda2797.jpg) teens, just on the edge of being fuckboys still but I ignore them, ignore their starts and stutters and usher my crewmates and Captain’s brothers into a mostly safe spot count them Captain Zoro Nami Usopp Sanji Chopper Robin Mark Taffy Bryony Franky Brook and Me too and Ace and Sabo and over to the left is Perona in her workhouse clothing her life was joyless and dull but her family was alive and I’m so sorry-

 

“It wasn’t your fault. I don’t blame you or Spadey. Now go get him.”

“-Okay.”

 

Check my neck- bugs on, shirt tied, pants of leather and my new shoes and my spear and [ Moda ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/31/48/eb/3148eb60ed35e0cc21a47e8be60b9e1a.jpg) hands me the right ribbon; [ sapphire blue brooch ](https://img0.etsystatic.com/129/0/7378430/il_340x270.931035816_fsk6.jpg) on a stretchy bit of cloth covered elastic. Take the ribbon off, put the brooch on- the key turns gold. Pin the key to my shirt, click. Hand [ Lami ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/9d/60/42/9d6042b20d9bc90f7193ccab92305c0e.png) the first aid kit, nod once to her, go up to the opening of the gazebo where post and post meets plain rail and beyond- I daren’t look. I can hear just fine though, everyone can.

 

“Your choices are thus, Spadille- break the cloudfox Dandelion’s neck, or break your sister Mab’s neck. Of course, if neither of these options suit, you can give me your belt-”

 

“This kind of thing is why I left.”

“I know, [ Doctor ](http://vignette3.wikia.nocookie.net/onepiece/images/0/00/Crocus_50_Years_Ago.png/revision/latest?cb=20130622160323).”

“I should have stayed.”

“She’d have hurt you, too.”

“I **should** have stayed.”

 

My clever fingers find the seventh stitch, pick the knot open and thus pull the entire curtain of memory away from it’s mooring and draw it aside but not quick enough to miss hearing the soft yelp and the sharp whine and my brother’s sobs and beyond the curtain there is- nothing. Darkness.

My eyes adjust and I see it’s not empty or dark it’s _Shadowed_ and I am the Ruler of the Shadows, Thus is my Fate.

I need no light to navigate the Shadow of this world.

I tie the curtain open.

I walk into the darkness and find [the chain](https://youtu.be/P160_odTwyY) that leads to the chandelier- the Cage. The chain I need to follow is coming from my chest.

I follow it down.

 

 

 

 

 

In my home island, there was one other like me; but I _was **not** _ like him… Merely lost in his Shadow. And he did things- things that horrified me. He went to many places in our home… took so many beings. In the name of Power. Fear. Control. Suffering.

Knowledge.

So many, brought to such harms- every reason was used to justify his actions.

 

The powerful _always_ justify their actions against the weak.

 

It was my home, and it was our way. It was all that I knew. But in one day… in one moment…

  


(Against the black wall, the wrong-white shadow of a woman with big, beautiful wings- [ blue, with white splotches ](https://media.treehugger.com/assets/images/2016/08/tim-wong-california-pipevine-swallowtail-butterflies-6.jpg.650x0_q70_crop-smart.jpg). A crib- a snap-)

  


**In one moment of Time, I knew it was Wrong.**

  


Behind the curtains I was waiting I had learned a new Trick I called it Hiding and I wanted to surprise Her with it and she- she- OBERON-! No, don’t move- don’t move don’t blink don’t even breathe if she finds you what will she do to you don’t move don’t move don’t move- waiting behind the curtains, too scared to breathe, be small, be small, She can’t see me be small- maybe there’s a chance but be quiet just wait.

Matron who saw the whole thing but couldn’t move because Dream Powers are Strong and I burned her with a candle-flame and she Woke and she understood what had happened before I did.

 

Portgas D. Adamant Oberon Morgan; Madam killed him with all the passion of snuffing out a candle. **_My brother was not a candle._ **

 

And so, when She had left, before I woke First Matron- I swore I would kill her.

I was five.

His burial was not the burial of a prince, which he was- I didn’t have such things. I didn’t know how to use my Haki in that way. Matron did, and so did the Gravedigger- and I’ve always been Strong and Knowing, so I followed them. As for grave goods… I did have a doll- a [ scorpion ](https://img0.etsystatic.com/000/0/5160840/il_fullxfull.92761250.jpg). And then, when it was over, I didn’t have a doll, or a new baby brother to love; just a grave I couldn’t visit and a charnellement I couldn’t keep or wear. -It was Matron’s job, and she failed. And so she died by her own hand.

The other eggs knew it wasn’t Safe, the nest was not- safe- and so they started to grow as slowly as they could manage but you can’t hold it off forever, there’s not enough space, or time. I _only_ ** _just_** had enough time.

It took three years to plan the Heist; case everything out, account for variables… find a path to get them from Thuletima to Tiffanyan. I had to steal Eggs form the Abortion Clinic- one Morgan didn’t care about, one whose records were bad so no one would notice; I stole them, but first I told them what I was doing, why I was there. I told all those babies what I was doing and why- and I asked them. I asked for volunteers who would die.

They all volunteered and I don’t understand why.

I only took nine- I only needed nine.

I stole my Littles and left the ones Fated to Die behind; I ran. First, the wolfsharks took me from Ueltima to the coast, across jagged frozen land and through dark forests; then, the turtles, took me from the cold coast to the warmer cape across dark waters and floes of ice that warmed; and finally, the beetles took me across the Gap, from Winter to Summer- nothing but sky and winds and the thousands of beetles.

Took the eggs through Fiddler’s Green, took them to Tiffanyan- never looked back.

I stole and it was Wrong and I ain’t sorry, so that’s why Madam made me go to boarding school and only took me for the spring break because she needed to keep up appearances and the rest of the time I was with the Summer Court at Tiffanyan. My Aunt’s Court is much more relaxed; I still didn’t fit in though. When I crossed the sea on turtle-back, I’d gotten the Sea Longing, you see- I’d never be content on Land again.

 

There’s a [ scorpion charnellement ](https://img1.etsystatic.com/128/1/9031876/il_340x270.1039956295_p5h9.jpg) that my Aunt Zippy wears, because Mom couldn’t bear to. That’s Oberon. One of his ribs, I think- I can’t be sure. I looked away, when it was made.

That was the summer the molasses flooded- so, I was eight. I flensed early.

Summer ended- I went to school. Spring came, and the Fated Ones died; and Second Matron died by her own hand.

I never looked back, not even once. It’s not something I really do when I’m moving forwards.

 

I couldn’t save myself. I couldn’t save my brothers, either- Titania didn’t want to be saved, and Spadille thought… I think he thought if he stayed, he could love the crazy out of Her, and him. Loving someone will not cure their mental illness.

 

I never said anything about what I’d stolen- never bragged, never…

Harry Morgan knew what I had done anyway. By the time she figured it out, though, she couldn’t stop me from doing it. I’d already done it.

 

For this I was punished. Discarded. Unwanted.

I left everything I knew. And I spent many years alone.

But I do not regret what I did.

I don’t regret learning that if you have the courage to leave your old life; if you take that risk, and jump into the unknown… what you find will **_amaze_ ** you.

 

There are _much_ better places than **home**.

 

In time, you can even find new homes. I found School, and Fiddler’s Green, and Tiffanyan, and Merry, and Sunny- teachers, family, friends… a husband. -There is more to the world than death and trickery and fighting. There is more to the world than power and fear and control and suffering.

 

Ach- Time is strange. At first, it seems boundless; but it is always fleeting. Soon, our time belongs to others, and it races by. Before we know it, time runs out. We lose the chance to thank the ones who meant the most to us.

Who made us who we are.

 

Because of my brother, I learned the greatest Truth I know; something I’ve done my best to live by, every day. I want to thank him. I want to thank the person who showed me that a kinder world was out there- and that kindness is worth the risk.

He taught me the greatest lesson I know: Life is not about the Shadow you cast on your enemies; it is the Shade you provide to your friends that matters most.

 

(And in this, I think- I am good enough. If it’s a stupid idea that will never work- that works- then it’s not stupid.)

 

I find the lock on the golden cage. I use the tiny golden key. I do this with my eyes closed because- I know why. Isn’t it obvious?

I can smell- blood.

 

“Spadille- are you coming or what?”

“Y-yeah. I- Yeah. Let me just put this mask away.”

 

I wait. A smooth hand touches the back of mine, tentative. I lead the clammy palm to my neck, wrap careful arms around my brother’s waist and under his legs and then I fly- up.

 

I step back into the light of the gazebo and carefully set Spadey on the bench nearest to Lami; help him take his blue green shirt off. It sticks to his back a bit, stripes of blood staining the thin silky shirt forever a blotchy brown and- I- He folds his legs up into a crossed- crossed- feet under the thighs, and open to the air is his back. My older brother’s back is a mass of bleeding stripes of red on his pale skin but I know he can tan so- of course. Wrapped in his shawl is- the mask. I look away from it, deep breath.

Look at his crewmates- Moda, Lami, Perona.

Our nine sisters are here too, but not sitting with anyone in particular; Ezra, Ophiuchus, Amberjack, Attwell, Gable, Ciconia, Felix, Dory, and little Tigerlily who was hatched last- I nod to them, once, sharply. They nod back.

And our Aunts; Sooty Ravelle, and Inky Tzipporah. They look so proud of me.

Spadey’s their Captain- Moda Lami Perona- there’s no place safer he can be, honestly. Or she- it well may be that Spadey actually is a woman, not a man, but- She doesn’t beat Her daughters. And considering what he chose to let me do- I can’t help but wonder if he was just tired of getting beaten like that. I would have been. And it wouldn't have seemed so hard a choice, wouldn't have been so clearly lethal at the time- but-

 

(“On the blood of our Mother-murdered brother, Portgas D. Adamant Oberon Morgan, I- Portgas D. Mab Boudicca Morgan- swear thus: Thrice shall I Trick the one called Harry Morgan, and Thrice shall She be Tricked by Me. Upon the passing of the Third Trick, Her Life is forfeit to Me, for it is upon that passing that I shall gain the strength needed to kill her. I shall have five years to prepare each Trick- and should I fail in Tricking Her, My life is forfeit. This, I Swear.”

“...Mab...”

“Spadille, I’m going to kill her. I’m going to protect you- and I’m going to _kill_ **_Her,_ ** if it’s the last thing I ever do _._ I make this solemn Vow; I Swear it.”

Lightning crashed through the sky. Rain came pouring down.

It's the kind of crazy Oath only a child could make with such conviction.)

 

I’m not so sure a child’s Oath is really the kind of thing you need to set your entire life on. I’m still going to kill her- but not for the reasons I had before.

  


I tug the curtain back into place, tie it with a piece of brown leather- obviously doesn’t match doesn’t fit liar liar liar liar-

**Incurably so.**

I breathe deep.

Feels nice, telling the Truth.

 

 

I look at my crewmates. I look at my Captain. I can feel some kind of expression on my face- some sort of serene wrath probably, but I’m enforcing my calm far too much to really note if that’s right or not. Captain got it immediately, eyes shaded with his hat or no- he nodded once to me, sharply. I can feel the exact moment I scare white hairs into the old people. It’s probably the exact shape of my grin.

Time for a little payback.

 

“...aren’t you going to kill me?” 

“Hmhmhmhmhmhmhmhmhmhmhmhmhmhmhmhmhm! Ach, Spadille- do you really think **I** would let **you** escape your **_suffering_** by killing you so **_soon?”_**

“...”

“-No, Spadille. I’m not going to kill you- not now, not ever. You’ll just have to **live** and **suffer.** Aye- you will live, and you will live, and you will **live** with the suffering your own actions have wrought upon the World. You will live and suffer with the memory of your actions; especially the ones you took against me. -Although, if you really long for Death so fiercely… **I would assume you know where your guns are. I’m quite certain you know how to use them.** And, as you're under no Oaths forbidding it so far as I am aware-”

“-can’t you just kill me? It’s what I deserve-”

“-Hmhmhmahahahahahaha! -No. No, what **_you_ ** deserve is for me to tell Danelphe what you just said, just now; and instead of going out to battle the Sky Queens- for the next, oh, two years… Instead, she will make you stay at her house, and she shall wrap you in the _fucking blue scratchy piece of shit warming blanket from the pits of hell-_ ”

“-no-”

“-and I shall hand-make you a warm, adorable, soft and precious cuddle buddy-”

“-nooo-”

“-A FUZZY WUZZY CUDDLE BUDDY THAT I SHALL MAKE WITH MY OWN TWO HANDS, SPADILLE, AND FILL IT WITH LOVE AND WISHES FOR YOUR HEALTH-”

“-NONONO-”

“-AND SHE WILL MAKE YOU SIT ON THE _**FUCKING**_ COUCH THAT IS ONLY FOR SHOW IT’S MADE OF DIRT AND PLANKS OF WOOD AND A CLOTH DUST COVER THERE IS NO GIVE OR COMFORT IN IT-”

“-AAAAAAAARRRGHHHH-”

“-AND YOU WILL BE IN THE POND ROOM WITH THE WEEPING WILLOWS AND THE THICK BLACK MUD AND THE FUCKING SWANS AND THE FUCKING GEESE WHO WILL STARE AT YOU AND CONTEMPLATE WAYS THEY CAN GET AWAY WITH BREAKING ALL THE BONES IN YOUR BODY **_BUT CRUCIALLY NOT BY KILLING YOU OUTRIGHT_ ** -”

“-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH-”

“- **AND THEN, AND MOTHERFUCKING THEN, SWADDLED IN THE SCRATCHIEST PIECE OF SHIT WARMING BLANKET IN THE WORLD, HUGGING A FUZZY WUZZY SNUGGLY CUDDLY BUDDY THAT YOUR YOUNGER SISTER HAS MADE FOR YOU WITH HER OWN TWO HANDS AND THE PUREST DEVOTION TO YOUR WELLBEING, WITH SWANS AND GEESE STARING AT YOU WITH MURDER IN THEIR FESTERING BIRD-DEMON HEARTS** -”

“-NO **NO** **_NO_ ** -”

“ **-I WILL TELL DANELPHE ON YOU AND SHE WILL MAKE YOU SIT ON THAT THING PRETENDING TO BE A COUCH IN HER POND ROOM AND SHE WILL MAKE YOU TALK ABOUT YOUR** **_FEEEEEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLLLLIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINGS_** -”

“-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA **AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH-** ”

“- **AND YOU CAN DESTROY THE FUZZY WUZZY SNUGGLY CUDDLY BUDDY ALL YOU WANT BUT YOU KNOW THEY MAKE YOU FEEL BETTER ABOUT THINGS IN A GENERAL WAY** -”

“- **SHUTTHEFUCKUPTHEYDONOT** -”

“- **AND YOU STORE THEM IN YOUR ROOM ON YOUR BED BECAUSE THEY KEEP NIGHTMARES AWAY AND I WILL MAKE YOU THE FUZZIEST OF COMPANIONS AND IF YOU DESTROY THE ONE I MAKE YOU I’LL MAKE THE NEXT SET** **_GRUESOMELY REALISTIC_ ** -”

“- **FUCK FUCK FUCK NO** -”

“- **YOU KNOW HOW GOOD I AM AT TAXIDERMY** -”

 _“-_ **_THERE IS NOTHING GOOD ABOUT TAXIDERMY MAB_ ** _-”_

 

And Spadille screamed and writhed on the ground as I told him more about what kind of adorable faux-critter I’d be making for him if he didn’t shape up; out of a former real-critter, even. As far as threats go, it’s a fairly effective one- not because I don’t mean what I’m saying but because _he knows for a_ **_fact_ ** _that I will._ After all, we both know exactly how far I’m willing to go.

This went on for some time.

I’ll admit it here and now, I do get a visceral sort of satisfaction from tormenting my brother with confirmation that, in fact, I still love him and care about him. It’s the fucking worst- for him, I mean, I’m having a great time.

It’s especially awful for him- shooting me must have been akin to carving his living heart out and replacing it with a stone of ice. Surprise, brother dearest- I ain’t dead, and I won’t kill you. You’re going to have to live with your mistakes and your failure.

Just.

Like.

Me.

 

(I’m not nice, like Queen Morgan wanted me to be; the nice ones can get up close before they gut a man, after all. No, I am Fair- like my elders before me, I am Fair. Hip-hip hurrah for the Queen of Maggots! Hurrah for the Queen of Fae!)

After a while, his squeals of horrified agony taper off into a panting mess of longhaired older brother in the ugliest skirt I’ve ever- oh, no, it’s the shoes. Okay.

 

“Three questions to answer truthfully, and we’ll leave it all behind us for now: firstly- when I stitched the Lie into your skin, did I promise to protect you as well? Secondly- when I slew Titania, did I have my Bug Legion devour him _before_ , or _after_ he was dead? And thirdly- did you have me pushed down the Garden Stair so I would be able to choose to save my unborn child, or to let him die?” I say.

“...The answer to all of those questions is yes, Mab. Yes, you Promised; Yes, your bugs ate at Titania before and after he was dead; Yes, I had you pushed so you would have a Choice, instead of doing like Morgan did with Oberon-  so you could have a chance to defy the Fate Titania prophesied if the babe had lived.” he says.

“-If we both live through this, you and I shall have a very great deal to talk about. Just so we're clear. -I suppose I never thanked you, for doing what you did.” I say, staring over the white fence of the gazebo.

“No. Nor did I, for what you did.” he says, staring at the ceiling.

“I don’t think I ever will.” I say.

“-And you think I would?” he says.

 

I snort. He snorts back.

 

I stand, dust myself off, and snap up my spear into my hands. I jump the fence and land in high grass- it’s only just past noon.

No trees, no flowers- dirt, grass, a soft summer’s breeze. The last of the season.

Behind me, a white gazebo, filled with people. Before me- Her.

Seven brown braids with bells at the ends. Twin diamond dots in colors four under each eye. Gold headpiece, red gem over her forehead. Big green eyes, black tattoos like the stripes of a tiger on her arms and legs and she’s- she’s not what I remember at all.

Then she opens her mouth and it all comes rushing back to me-

 

“ _Worthless_ boy-”

“Don’t you **_dare_** blame Spadille for not being Ace- don’t you **_dare_** blame him for something that was **_your_** fault. Don’t you **_fucking_** **_dare_** , Motherfucker.”

“ **...What** did you call me?”

“Motherfucking Morgan, isn’t that right?”

 

And then standing before me is not her at all, but a [ beast ](http://vignette3.wikia.nocookie.net/cardfight/images/8/8a/Unit_ot12.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20111211152710) with no woman's skin to be seen.

There’s no Shadows anywhere.

So that’s how it is, huh?

Alright.

 

The battle is fierce but short and when the sun is close to setting I score a line of blood across her jaw and she punches me into the gazebo except no she doesn’t bitch I have wings grass stalks flying from where my swings have cut them tch still need polishing whip duck left loop and there goes a tuft of my hair that was close and score another line of blood same spot but crossing X marks the spot the shadows grow longer and longer until- until-

 

No Shadows, but-  **I am Queen of the Fae**. **I'll add the Shadows Back.**

 

**Shadow Stitching: Real Folk Blues!**

 

* * *

 

_'Mab,_

 

_I always knew it was one of the two of you that killed Roger. You, or Titania. You've both always had a gift for the Bloodmagics- but one of you was meant to Create, and the other, Destroy. I’m- I was never as good as you at the Knowing, Mab, never as good as Grandmother or Rouge; so I couldn’t tell for sure if it was you or Titania, that was meant for what. So, I flipped a coin and I picked._

_I was Wrong. And by the time I realized how wrong, it was too late- I'd already broken my promise twice, with your little brother, Oberon. And of course, when I split Spadey's skin... that was it. Three strikes, Mab. And then you can't come back- not when it would matter._

_I’m not a good mother. I knew I wouldn't be- Rouge wanted children, and so did Roger, and I... I went at their pace. I should have gone at mine. Kuzan isn't a bad man, really- no worse than I was, at the time... he just... he wasn't either of the two whom I had wed. -I was so angry at Roger, but it wasn't his fault- I just couldn't admit to myself that my Grandmother was right: Rouge was a Bad Egg. I loved her, to be sure- but loving someone doesn't change who they are, it validates them. I shouldn't have validated Rouge, but I did- I loved her cruel temper and mercurial moods. Rouge was very much like the Sea._

_Please, don't make my mistakes- don't be like me._

_I never wanted to be a mother- certainly not by myself… I never wanted to be a single parent. I'm sorry I don't love you like you deserve; I'm sorry I can't be what you need._

_I’m- I’m sorry, about all this. I’m sorry for doing this to you and Titania and Spadille, and I’m sorry… I’m sorry that by the time you find this, and read it, I won’t remember who I am. I won’t remember you, or your brothers, or anything that's actually Important._

_You have no idea how proud I was when you stole those eggs from the Nesting Room. No idea._

_I'm so proud of the person you are going to become; proud that, even for a moment, you were mine, proud to have known you... in everything you do, you have **always** been yourself. I know you will keep True, as I have not been able to. _

_-I swore many Oaths to Rouge; the one I regret swearing the most is the Oath I swore to never take my own life._

_If I could spare you the Duty of taking my life, I would. -Hell, I would have ended it as soon as my Dog's Work in Est was ended. I have defiled myself in the blood of children, Mab; yours, Titania’s, Spadille's… and all those children in Est whose names I never knew and whose fates I sealed anyway._

_I am Wrong, now- there’s very little left of me._

_I’m sorry that I failed you._

_It’s okay if you can’t forgive me._

**_Please, if nothing else- please don't make my mistakes. You'll make your own, of course- but please, if you can: don't make my mistakes._ **

 

 

 

_So long as I am myself, I will love you, and your brothers and sisters, forever._

_Harry Morgan'_

 

* * *

_It is the harvest season,_

_and food is ready for winter._

_We will eat, and we will live,_

_and we will be grateful._

 

* * *

 

[ _It’s time to Wake Up._ ](https://youtu.be/Hhg5jNChE4k)

 

* * *

  


Sanji and I get up at the same time we always do, every morning. Five of the clock, sharp- the cheesefruit in my hand is unchanged, not even bruised.

Damn.

I mean- I remember this happens every Hunt I try, but- Dammit!

-Danelphe was right. There is a point at which Dreaming does no good, and you have to go out and  ** _do._**

 

 

After I showered and cried in the shower but quietly, I put the cheesefruit back in with the other cheesefruits in the basket in the kitchen and settle onto a chair on the lawn. I watch the stars roll onwards, watch the horizon light from dull purple to orange red green blue blue blue sky nearly sunrise. The shadows of the World speak to me softly- I am cognizant of what is and what isn’t. There were no shadows in the Dream but it happened true enough.

Now I know for sure- Harry Morgan must be battled in the flesh. I cannot defeat her in her own domain.

 

...Except something- dead people, really dead I mean, not just legally dead like me- people who are not currently alive in any way cannot Dream, which means- oh my god.

Oh everyone’s up early, perfect-

 

“Captain! Quick, before you forget- did you have a dream where you were a kid, and you and your brothers got eaten by a giant tiger? And then Bryony-”

“-kicked the tiger’s gut so hard he vomited us up and then Bryony killed it with one punch and then she-”

“-borrowed a hanky from me and wiped your faces and hugged you-”

“-and she was really worried-”

“ **THAT ACTUALLY HAPPENED?!?** ” shouts everyone else.

“Yes it did! More importantly- Captain, only people who are _still living_ can Dream. That Dream in particular- my Mo- She sets the rules, and one of them is you can only be yourself while you’re in the Dream. Which means- your brother’s name is Sabo, right?”

Captain nods carefully.

“He’s alive, then, he has to be, he couldn’t have been there if he _wasn’t_ **_alive_ **.” I grin.

Captain blinks.

Then he understands.

Then he grins.

I nod once, and sit and eat my breakfast- scrambled eggs, sliced fruit, toast with butter on it. Mmm.

 

Oh, Luffy’s been screaming “he’s alive, he’s alive!” for the past hal- hour. Whoops. And the dogs are howling with him. I swear, I didn’t mean to do this.

Sorry, everyone.

 

“It’s fine, Mab. Really-” says Nami.

**_Howwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwl-_ **

“I’m just going to go and… handle Luffy.” she said.

**_HE’S ALIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVE!_ **

“Be gentle but firm with the dogs- don’t raise your voice much above a shout when you talk to them, okay?”

**_YAPYAPYAPYAPYAP_ **

**_RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWLLLLLLLLLLLL!_ **

“Okay. I remember.”

**_Hooooooowwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwl_ **

**_Yapyapyapyapyapyapyapyapyap_ **

**_Rrrrrouuuuuuuuuuuuwl!_ **

**_Hoooooooooooooooooooooooowwwwwwwwwwwwwwl!_ **

**_He’s aliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiive!_ **

**_Luffy-!_ **

_Augh!_

**_Finish your breakfast already! -_ ** _And you three- quiet down, would you?_

_Mmmmbark. Yap, yap. Grrrmph._

_Thank you._

  


“So why didn’t you beat your- Mo- Her?” asks Captain, after he’s calmed down a bit and come back to breakfast.

“Because she always runs away- I always manage to hunt her down in the second half of the night, but every time I try to beat her either she kicks my ass or I run out of time. And she’s seven times as strong in daylight. More importantly though- it wasn’t the real kind of Dream you chase down, it was the kind that gets burned away in the sunlight, like mist in the morning.” I say.

“Hmm. So- is Harry Morgan… strong?”

“Ah... She’s on the weaker side for the New World, which is the second half of the Line; on the Paradise side, she’s strong enough to completely outclass all of us, but… I think I’ve become stronger. I’ve only drawn blood on her once before, and that was a fluke, and then I didn’t fight her at all for years and years- and I’m still not too happy with my technique, I could be much better… But I think I can take her, now. Now that I know the truth, or close enough to make no difference, anyway...”

“Hm. So what do you have to do today?”

“Uh- well. I have to clean my kusarigama, and fix Perona’s umbrella, and take Bryony and Brook to the concert hall, there’s spoils for them there, waiting-”

“Um-?”

“Yeah, Bryony- you sang during the hunt, as did Brook. He doesn’t just play the violin after all, in his boney hands the instrument sings-”

“Yohohohoho!~”

“-which means you’re both entitled to the spoils.”

“Oh. Is that good?” says Bryony.

“It means you’re entitled to a bunch of stuff- I don’t know what, exactly, or I’d tell you. You want them?”

“Are they anything like the song that made us all go nuts?”

“I don’t know. You’ll just have to find out- if you want to.”

 

Bryony thinks it over for the rest of the hours before dawn- I’m a little busy making sure the kusarigama is clean, and that I actually have the supplies to make a quality umbrella that- crucially- Perona would like. In fact, I do- bright pink silk, beeswax, paints and brushes, thread, needles, rattan and Adam Wood to replace what burnt and straight up boning. Er. Not- not sex with Sanji, that won’t be happening until sundown, but the stuff we use to make corsets stand up is also technically the same stuff we use to make umbrellas I just- cut it differently?

  
  


The dawn heralds the end of the Hunt; I wave at the slightly see-through Perona, who lifts a hand back. We depart for more shore time on Floria at Captain’s nod to go ahead; I step down with Bryony and Brook. On my back is my messenger bag; inside is my trade good, and my gift for renewal of rivalry- and stationery, just for her. Just in case. There’s a lot of formalized interactions in Skua- you exchange annoyingly cute stationery to declare a friendship; you exchange items that would be of use if you were ‘better’ to declare rivalry. For me- well, I wouldn’t presume to use my brother’s violin, I’m not a violinist; I’m not good enough to use my brother’s violin. And you exchange gifts of sentiment as condolence- for her, an umbrella made new. Her old one got all burned up because she used it to keep burning ashes off her _faunadam’s_ face. Perona watched Gekko Moirah die; she watched him die.

She has my condolences.

 

I drop Bryony and Brook off at the Claimant’s Square, and walk with Perona to her studio; it’s on the other side of Floria from her tavern. “Be Nega Tive” is it’s name; it’s got a sweetly smiling mascot flapping on it’s flagpole, and two fish with their tails pointing towards heaven; a red fish, a blue fish, on a green ground. Her loyalties are clear- not a pirate, not government; she’s mercantile. Money green.

We settle into her airy pink studio; dressmaker’s dummies and folded stacks of reasonably sized shirts and dresses. On her shop counter- ah, this is the storefront, got it- is the Violin in it’s case. I place the cleaned Kusarigama next to it. There’s an order- condolences, business, friendship.

 

Line up my gifts; the umbrella I built with my Shadow Stitching as we walked to her studio; the kusarigama she could use if she just trained more in the physical martial arts; and a stationery set with rainbows and polar bears on it. On her side- an overcoat dress of brown with delicately picked out embroidered raven feathers in black overtop, a delicate iridescent shimmer; a skinsuit to go underneath, the true garment- one piece, that special blue-silver grey-brown I never quite managed to do right. A beautiful violin, the piece of my brother’s heart and soul he entrusted to me and I to her because I’m neither foolish nor unobservant and Titania was a monster in a person’s skin. And finally- [ sugar skull stationer ](https://rlv.zcache.com/blue_flower_eyes_day_of_the_dead_sugar_skull_stationery-r6d45c5c71462475bb7f97e8ff0b60e96_vg6ke_8byvr_324.jpg)y, a beautiful dead woman’s face. Bit on the nose there, bae.

 

We Trade. We don’t say anything- what more needs be said? Although, before I go- I open the stationery set, and write two letters- one to Perona. And one in the care of Perona- for Lami.

 

_Awful pastel punk-goth piece of shit,_

 

_You’re more than good enough to be a professional fashion designer with your own brand and everything. Why are you wasting your time for something that can’t be repaid and isn’t your fault anyway? He doesn’t blame you- and by the time you read this, he won’t be there anymore. What are you waiting for? What do you stall for? I’d say something about wasting your pretty face or something- your beautiful talents?- but you were always better at that kind of thing than I ever was._

 

_As one rival to another- get outta Floria already, stupid! It wouldn’t do to dwell overlong in the past and forget to live; Floria’s nice to visit, but you can’t actually live here, and you, of all of us, deserve to live. As much as anyone deserves to live, I mean._

 

_Still better than you, Mab_

  


_P.S. You finally learned how to make structured clothing, neh?_

  
  
  
  


As for Lami- well, that’s between me and her.

I packed away my new things, and left before Perona could read my letter for her. I got just far enough to hear her scream of outrage, and the faint but unmistakable cadence of her cussing me out- ‘BUT THAT DOESN’T MEAN WE’RE FRIENDS OR ANYTHING YOU WONDERFUL MISTAKE OF NATURE’- ah. It’s nice to fuck with old rivals again. It’s nice to have her condolences, even if I’m not ready to wear these clothes yet.

I walk through Floria. The second sunlit time of Samhain has fully melted the mists away, and the world is ablaze with color and light. This is the very inverse of Beltane; instead of joy turning to sorrow, on Samhain, sorrows turn to joys. Memories of wonderful days, beautiful moments; friendships and rivalries.

I _am_ ready to wear these clothes.

 

I stop in a public restroom, change out of my everyday clothes- my leather pants, my skin shirt of plain coppery brown- and into the one piece skinsuit Perona made for me. It’s basically [ a blue backless jumpsuit ](https://cdn.lulus.com/images/product/xlarge/1589138_253674.jpg), if you want to know specifically what it is. The heat of my body contracts the fabric to my skin in a way that requires years of work to learn to do; I can weave fabric like this, but the color would not be as lovely- I usually just- don't go for things quite this elaborate.

Once it’s settled, the fabric shimmers like latex in the light from the transom window. I tuck the pant legs under my shin guards, put my shoes back on; didn’t take off my underwear or hose, that would be weird. Perona never was one to make all-in-one garments, even this jumpsuit is a stretch for her. I look at myself in the big mirror- take a few beri coins from my coin purse and rent a pair of shears; quick clip my hair and suck up the clippings, tie a scarfy headband around my head and use a wet comb to shape the hair around my face [ just so. ](http://www.betrendsetter.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/05/bangsshorthairforwedding5.jpg) Darken my lashes a bit more, dab red across my lips and let the sharp shadows of my own face and my own soft clear skin do the rest of the work. [ Put on the coat ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/93/3f/7a/933f7a06cab72410ac5db0c7b117f9b3.jpg) and do up the buttons, tie the belt to the side like that; women tie to the left. Pack up my bag, final check; yep. This is what a _dam_ ought to look like. This is Perona’s interpretation of me as-

Perona’s condolence goes like this- ‘We are Eternal Rivals. Though I seek nothing less than victory over you, I do not wish for your anguish or your destruction, nor the destruction of that which you create. Though you were not able to wear the protective skirts of an _ouna_ or a _dam_ , that is still a part of who you are and who you chose to become. You had children, and you named them as yours- which, to my mind, is all that is required for such things. So this, I made for you- the Suit is a mark of your Power; the Coat, a mark of your Duty. Wear both with pride, if it please you.’

 

Perona’s a good person; very proud, very proper.

I’m really glad we’re friends again.

  
  


I go back to the ship- oh, I almost missed lunch. There’s a pair of skimmers on the lawn deck- yep, red sails, smooth hulls, the pointy keel, the spinny bit. [ Skimmers ](http://vignette1.wikia.nocookie.net/suisei-no-gargantia/images/0/0d/Windsurfer_gliders.png/revision/latest?cb=20130505233801) . They’re in the windsurf position if I’m not mistaken, very different from the [ glider ](http://vignette1.wikia.nocookie.net/suisei-no-gargantia/images/a/a9/Windsurfer_gliders_3.png/revision/latest?cb=20130505233854) position… I’ll teach them how to use one I guess? Maybe all the Kids will want to learn to use it, or Nami might? I don’t know. They’re only about the size of surfboards maybe? A little bigger, I guess; there’s some variation. If it comes down to it, Franky can make more of them, and I’m actually very good at making sails now, so… Hm.

Bryony and Brook have returned, then- and Bryony is singing something. Ah, [ her spoil ](https://youtu.be/Av_Us6xHkUc)\- though it might be Brook’s, I can’t be sure.

As she sings, the bits of ribbon on the dining room table wiggle and dance in their colors. Eventually, she starts braiding sound, at which point I join in with her because _that_ one is not one you do alone. When Brook realizes what we’re doing, he joins in as well, leading to something very- [ beautiful. ](https://youtu.be/J3_rXXtavfA) When we’re finished, a plait of multicolored ribbon is lying flat on the table. I fold it into a bracelet and Shadow Stitch it shut, push it onto Bryony's wrist. Bryony makes to sing more, but I stop her with an upraised palm.

 

“Drink some warm water and rest your voice, Bry. That’s a lot of work you just did.”

“Um- ow. Okay, _ouna_ Mab.”

“Yohohoho, such care for your charge really warms my heart. Even though I don’t have one. Yohohohoh skull joke skull joke~”

“Wao. Your funny bone is as prominent as ever, Brook.”

“Hm? -Yohohohohohohohohohohoho~”

I smirk.

  


I drop my coat over the back of one of the dining room chairs and sit, sling my bag by my feet.

I eat the delightful lunch Sanji provides us.

I’m sitting down already, so I don’t notice him react more than the usual to me. I mean, henhen Sanji hasn’t really left, is the thing- every time I wear something new, he has to do a new noodle heart-heart dance. It’s endearing now, and he barely has nosebleeds at all too- I mean, there are occasional blood spots on our pillowcases but a few rounds with one of us on our knees usually clears that right up. I guess it’s a little more pronounced because we’ve been abstaining for the past… god, nearly twenty four hours now. Just a little bit longer, almost there.

 

I spend the afternoon going over each skimmer on the deck and pronouncing them fit for use with Franky shadowing me the whole way. This involves examining the hull of each skimmer, popping the sail out of its joint and looking it over for weaknesses, and going over the motors with a fine tooth comb looking for any wear and tear that needs to be seen to before use. The skimmers are designated as Pink and Purple; both are in good repair, if a little on the older side. The hull design hasn’t changed, it’s the rigging that’s on the old side. It’s the right time of year to do this, and very nearly the right place; I just need a [ life vest ](http://cdn6.bigcommerce.com/s-uhthfkdy/products/113/images/555/MW01_all__22570.1458587191.500.500.jpg?c=2). It’s a super buoyant vest held onto the body with a system of friction buckles, velcro, and a big ass water-safe zipper. Mine is bright orange; so is Nami’s. Basically everyone has one- I made one for everyone, at least- for use in extra extreme weather conditions- or in this case, for use in learning to fly a skimmer. Captain’s is bright red, and has a bunch more straps than strictly necessary, but I really don’t want Captain to drown, so… Anyway, I fold my wings up and slide it on, then look at the barely holding still Taffy-

  


“Bry, did you get these for Taffy?”

“Oh- um, yes? I mean, Brook already got what I would have gotten, and… well, I noticed how good Taffy is on the lines, and I thought she might like them?”

“Good choice. Taffy- put this on if you want me to teach you how to use one of these.”

“Yisyisyis~!”

 

And then, from a bit past noon until mid-afternoon, Taffy and I practice using the skimmers- first, learning to get off the board safely. Sitting on the board. Then standing, starting the engine, turning, stopping, emergency actions; and then, I take her up on a flight. She falls in love immediately- because the thing about Cherubim is that they can’t actually fly at this lower altitude; their wings are actually optimized for gliding. Up Top, the Wind is fierce and constant- down here? Not so much.

Predictably, Luffy immediately wants to go too- I tell him the rules before he can launch himself up.

 

“PUT THAT RED VEST ON AND WAIT UNTIL WE COME BACK WE ONLY HAVE TWO OF THESE AND THEY’RE ONLY BIG ENOUGH FOR TWO PEOPLE WAIT A SECOND PLEASE.”

I land us next to Sunny with a foaming wake behind me- a very tired but happy Taffy scrambles up the side. I leap up with a mooring line and tie Pink off to the rail. Then I make sure Captain is securely in the vest- velcroed, zipped, belted around the chest and the legs, yes, good.

“Well, come on then.”

“Yeah!”

 

And then I take him out for a quick little run around. Well, no, first I make sure he’s latched into the ship with a secure line, just like Taffy was. Make sure my goggles are secure on his face, and he’s about half a second away from sulking. Then I take us up. He’s not sulking anymore- he’s laughing. Whooping with joy, really.

My brother, Spadey, is the one who could really make a skimmer dance- I’m no slouch, of course, and there are a few tricks I always enjoyed doing… like this one, actually. A roll, high loop to give us some height, a little bit of a wiggly line for distance, tailslide into a spin, then quick straight back to Sunny and sliding stop sliding stop stop stooooop and the wave goes shoooom- yep. Still got it.

Spadey was just the one who fell in love- I have a technical expertise in this, but he’s the one who can make a Skimmer sing across the waves.

 

It’s just about stopping time, so.

 

“Have fun Captain?”

“Hell yeah!”

“Good. Unfortunately, it’s too dark to go again- we’ll maybe have time tomorrow?”

“Shishishi, maybe- thanks for taking me up, Mab.”

“Sure. Need help unclipping?”

“Oh- yeah, thanks.”

“Sure. If you’d like, we can do that anytime the sea’s calm enough for long enough…? I mean, I have to teach Taffy, anyway-”

“HELL YEAH HELL YEAH!”

“Hmhmhmhm. Alright, it’s a plan then. SANJI IS IT DINNER TIME YET?”

“YES _PCHELKA_ IT IS.”

“WOOHOO!” shout both Luffy and myself, but probably for different reasons.

“EY WING-SIS?”

“SUP STAR-BRO?”

“I’M OPENING UP THE DOCK SYSTEM- WE’LL PUT THE SKIMMERS IN DOCK TWO, AYE?”

“AYE-AYE! OPEN ‘ER UP, STAR-BRO!”

 

Oh, he moved Purple into the dock already- yep, that’s how you secure them, good- I catch the line Mark throws me, and loose the mooring from Sunny’s rail, tow Pink into the dock. Dinner is delicious as it always is- about halfway through, I sit bolt upright and yelp.

 

“Mab? What’s wrong?” says Sanji.

“Oh- nothing’s wrong, just- Samhain’s over now. Mm. I didn’t realize that the shadows got strongest right at sunset. Hmm- it’s like a tide.”

“Oh. Ah.”

I look him in the eye and smile. He smiles back.

 

I’m sure he finished cleaning up after dinner; he’s too consummate a professional to not clean up his workspace when he’s done with it. I’m also quite sure every crewmate was grateful for Nami’s forethought in requesting soundproofing for the dorms. Sanji had a mighty hunger and I had a deeply rooted joy in feeding it. Considering I have the same hunger- well. And Sanji’s a cook, his honor demands that he feed the hungry. In this case, no other would do for satisfaction. Mmhm. Sanji pretty. Sanji smart. Sanji fingers are best fingers. Mmmmhm mhm.

We didn’t really sleep all that much that night, which was fucking awesome.

  


We sail onwards in the morning.

* * *

_Mist comes from time to time -_

_and brings to us a chance to rest_

_from looking at the moons._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just because it happens in your head, doesn't mean it isn't Real.


	20. Attracting the Ear of Murphy, God of Disaster

Between Floria and Sabaody Archipelago is an empty stretch of ocean characterized by very swift currents. Used correctly, it only takes about five weeks or so to get from Floria to Sabaody. There are no islands between where Floria made us drift and where we were headed; not after-

We chose that route because-

Nami got an Eternal Pose to Sabaody from Floria; she traded one of the mini-log poses I made for it, very last second. Like, she mail ordered it? Most Skuan shopping is actually done over post- for specialty items, at least.

In Skua, Log Poses are of equal value to Eternal Poses; generally three wildly different Eternal Poses (so as to facilitate triangulation) are preferred by the serious Skuan Navigator.

It was a Fair trade, the only kind of trade any Skuan will entertain. No haggling, no getting more than you give- it’s Fair, or it doesn’t happen. Nami was kinda pissed about it, actually- she wanted three Eternal poses, but not enough to give up three Log poses. So- we still have the one for Alabasta, and now we’ve got one labelled for Sabaody, but… Sabaody isn’t actually an island.

 

Anyway, this meant that the lack of islands directly between Floria and Sabaody wasn’t a big deterrent for getting there- it can be a little odd, trying to get from Water 7 to Sabaody. I mean, if you don’t take the Sea King heavy routes by the Calm Belts- peppered with tiny islands and islets to the Trunorth and the Trusouth, you have to go through the very empty ocean instead- nothing but fast moving water and crazy weather every five to seven days out there. It was- odd. Why we used that empty route.

Zoro was… thrashed. Beaten almost to a pulp, and I’m not sure why- he also said very clearly that it would be better to take the faster route, as if… as if he wanted to get away from Floria very quickly.

I- I’m not very… eloquent, sometimes. Mostly when I’m worried.

Chopper said that if Zoro had been beaten any worse, he’d have lost so much blood- internally, and externally- that he’d have died. Who did he fight? I-

 

He got a new sword on Floria? It’s name is Shusui, and it- I can hear faint whispers of Wano country coming from the rippled purple black blade, the hawkstriped sheath; durability is the main attribute of that sword. He’s wrapped a black _sageo_ rope around the upper part of the sheath. He won’t say who he fought, but I noticed- deep tracks, the half-crushed form of a pawprint on our lawn deck. In the rush of tending to Zoro, of-

 

Two days out from Floria, and we found him like that in the morning light and- and- our panicked rushing scuffed the mark away _but_ ** _I_** **_saw it_**. His- he was-

 

Zoro’s _sageo_ marks him as descended from- oh, I know this, it’s- it’s- the translation is something like Forceful Dragon of the House Assured, I think? I don’t remember, dammit, but- I do remember that how a swordsman ties his _sageo_ is indicative of his lineage as a student, how they choose to follow the tenets of the school (or ignore them outright), the specific knot used is passed down through the school.

 

-I can’t think of anything on Floria during the daytime of Samhain that would have hurt him so badly- at night, of course, the Hunt rides- but during the daytime… that’s **_odd._ ** And we left so quickly- I just. I’m concerned. Chopper said he’d be fine in two weeks, and I believe our Doctor.

[ What kind of creature could have left such a mark? ](http://img01.deviantart.net/aa4c/i/2016/116/9/f/kuma_3_wallpaper_by_ryonl8-da0cd2j.png)

 

Anyway, Zoro heals fast- he’d probably have healed faster if he didn’t lunge to catch Nami when she almost tripped down the stairs but… well, he only ripped two stitches, so it’s probably fine?

I’m from Skua, y’all. He didn’t rip any of the stitches near his big arteries or veins, so it’s probably fine, just painful- Chopper disagreed, but Chopper’s actually a doctor, not me.

 

The animals were frightened- as if some great fearsome thing was far too close to them. They settled down after a few days...

Mark’s actually very good with them, for all he’s a bit taciturn and uncomfortable in his skin still. I think being with the animals is very soothing for him- they don’t care what his gender is, they just care that he gives them the scritchy scritches and feeds them on time, keeps their water clean and mucks out their stalls regularly.

Mark’s duties- in addition to the position of heavy gunner during a battle situation- is to ensure that the animals are cared for; fed, watered, have clean living areas- that the doves and the goats (we actually have three, goats are herd animals- and since they aren’t for eating, they’re named too but I can’t tell them apart quite yet) get enough daily exercise to be healthy and happy. He has to gather the dove eggs and wash them for Sanji before he puts them in the pantry, milk the goat, and check over the various vegetables and fruits we have growing in the garden. He waters everything that needs watering, picks what needs picking… at the end of the first week, he’s starting to develop a pretty reddened neck, which while not necessarily _bad_ , certainly can’t be comfortable in the shirts he usually wears. High collars chafe across sunburns, is what I mean to say.

So I made him a straw hat- nothing like Captain’s, it’s nowhere near as complicated. Just a simple conical hat, good for the wind or the rain or the sun, for carrying things and amplifying noise. Taffy promptly stole it and is wearing it everywhere- I think she actually sleeps with it? So I showed him how to use his hankies as sunshades- over the back of the neck, cover the ears, dunk it in water for hotter work- which he liked much better.

Ain’t that just the way.

 

(Luffy is wearing a bracelet of some kind- I think it has a map in it or something? Got it during the first day on Floria from some guy named John, he said. It’s nice enough, I suppose. Feels like there's more to it than that, but it's Captain's business, not mine.)

 

Before we were too far from Floria, Perona sent me her Vivre Card in a letter and told me to come find her when I was ready for a “significant fashion upgrade”. She also wrote me that she’d put my letter in Lami’s hand personally- so. Y’know.

Things are moving in that direction admirably.

She even wrote me to tell Brook that she’d seen to his crewmates personally, and they would remain in the garden yard of the Thriller Bark Dance Hall so long as Floria stood.

Dance halls on Floria are something akin to churches and bars- they don’t really “go under”. Music will always be played there; and Brook himself, being the last… differently living member of that crew, is always welcome on the wandering isle. She also forwarded… well, her snail phone number.

So we can talk over the phone, is what I guess she meant by it- the option is always there, now. Conis sent me her number in the mail too; I got Severa’s before we left Water 7. Perona promised to pass along the other numbers she came across- Lami, Moda, Spadey if possible… And I put all of the phone numbers we _do_ have into the little black notebook that is in the care of Bryony, considering how she’s our communications officer. Doctor Crocus’ number is in it too, as well as all the relevant numbers to our crew- the Baratie restaurant (and the extension code for Sanji’s fauna’s office), Zoro’s Dojo, Nami’s Sister, Doctorine on Drum Island, Miss Kaya, Party’s Bar (unless it’s just for Fuschia Village, Luffy wasn’t clear...) Um. Franky put in the number for his old Salvager Family; and when Mark gave him the eye, he put in the number for Dock One too.

-I even put in the number for my _fauna_ Alberich- he hasn’t changed the number in thirty years, and there may come a time when I need to talk to him. Oh, and I remembered Aunt Zippy’s number too; always pays to have the Queen of Gossip on speed-dial.

 

Bryony has decided to name the various snails and the packsquid, as a method of ensuring she treats them kindly and with respect.

Nokia is our tough as a brick general communications snail- they could comfortably be used as the brick in the old brick-in-sock trick, and they’d probably enjoy it. Nokia was modified by me to make that true, same as Bryony was Before- and she asked specifically on Nokia’s behalf, all of them really, for me to do so; I did, of course. All our snails, and all the children of our snails, are going to be just as tough as Shelly was- and Shelly got thrown around like a baseball by Captain, Usopp, and Chopper. They nearly went through the kitchen door several times, actually. Considering they enjoyed being included in play like that immensely, and it was a good form of training for the boys, I never said anything about it.

Canon and Kodak, our video and picture snails, are in a weirdly romantic rivalry? Like they hate each other, but they’re also almost constantly making out- like, slurpy slurpy smooching- when they’re both not in use. According to Bry, this hate-on then making out thing is the preliminary overture for actual mating between compatible Den Den Mushi. If all goes well, there will be some kind of dance or trilling song between the snails, and then there will be the actual mating- which will seal their shells together for about a week straight. Then there will be more Baby Den Den Mushi than you can shake a fist at.

Tuner, our scrambler snail, is a sleepy old soul who likes to nap in people’s hands or on their shoulders. Considering they’re about the size of a large cantaloupe, this has been a bit… problematic. Tuner is actually the fastest of our snails; they can move at a fairly respectable slime, and can actually make it from one end of the ship to the other in about half an hour.

The packsquid, being of a rather excitable nature, is called Scrabble… I think. Scrabble(?) is a she, because a he-squid would have been quite too small for the purposes of Bryony’s communication snails and her console- a kind of musical synthesizer outfitted with various Dials and switches and turning dials and antenna and things. It’s… beyond me, what she does with it. Her and Brook seem to have a friendly rivalry going- when they aren’t playing each other compositions, they’re trying to see who can make the better music. I’m not sure who’s enjoying it more- the clash of old vs. new music; suddenly having someone who will really challenge their notions about music at all... It's nice to have friends, is all I can say.

 

This whole- sailing through a large stretch of basically nothing for two months or so- thing, would have been more problematic if we hadn’t had an entire farmstead, automatic water filtration and collection, and twelve very different people on our ship.

The diverse mix of personalities meant that we didn’t lack for interesting interactions, without sacrificing more familiar combinations. We settled into a routine within the first week and a half; the day’s chores were taken care of within the first three hours of wake time. Then- training. Zoro and Taffy- after Zoro’s two week convalescence- trained in the training room, while Usopp and Mark had running bullet battles on the deck. Franky built in retractable, moving target systems for them to use. By all accounts, it works very well; and, with Usopp on hand to watch over Mark’s use of his various ammunitions…

I actually ended up scaling the mechanical workings of his Beluga’buss down smaller, giving him a significantly less lethal… I hesitate to say toy, because as Usopp can attest, a slingshot in the hands of a master is no toy. The ammunition is the same for either weapon- and eventually, Mark convinced me to build him a much sturdier pair of Beluga’stols for use in battle.

Single shot, breech action, Adam wood handle and brass fittings, the usual imbuements in the barrel. A double over the shoulder holster; a [ jacket ](http://g02.a.alicdn.com/kf/HTB1JrFiLXXXXXaDaXXXq6xXFXXXd/New-Winter-Men-s-Thick-Denim-Jacket-font-b-Fleece-b-font-Shoulder-Patchwork-font-b.jpg) to go over everything. [ New pants ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/ae/30/00/ae3000374be00152d6f140b58f05311c.jpg), as well- looser, darker, flowing. He’s starting to figure himself out- not entirely comfortable enough to start wearing adornments, but he’s developing his own personal style, which is exciting to see.

 

Bryony actually trains with Nami and myself more often than with Luffy; or she trains with Sanji and Franky to cover the basics. She’s developing a very precise and powerful style of kickboxing- when she trains with me, she works on her restraint.

It’s all well and good to be able to punch out a Vice Admiral or sink a ship with one kick or- astonishingly- throw a cannonball to such effect as to intercept and destroy incoming volleys… If you are blessed with such strength, it then behooves you to learn to fully control it. The more you control your Power, the better you can use it’s effects; one does not hunt a sparrow with a blunderbuss, after all. Similarly, Bryony cannot proceed- I cannot allow her to proceed- without making absolutely sure that she only ever hits as hard as she wants, as she needs; and if she needs to hit as hard as she can, she knows _exactly_ what that means.

Nami is training her precision and basics. While Nami works on her whip skills- the steady crackling has become something of a comfort- Bryony works on her form. Each punch, kick, step, stomp, turn, push and sidebar is moved through like… like a kebab stick through honey. Her movements are slowly becoming more and more fluid as she refines herself from the rough start and stop jerks that characterized her original fighting style, to a more fluid and… dancerly kind of movement. She’s starting to marry the proud upright movements of her dancing style to the low, slinking movements of her fighting style- an entirely new way of moving, purpose built for her alone.

 

Taffeta has a very different training regimen; she’s a ninja, not a heavy gunner or a communications officer. She doesn’t need to have a perceptible battlefield presence- what she needs to have is _stealth_ . She’s also got more initiative than her hatch-mates; she realized almost immediately that Zoro’s training alone wouldn’t be enough for her, and decided to train with **everybody**.

She’s not as good a shot as Mark- the gunslinger, that’s the word I was looking for, he’s not a gunner, he’s a gunslinger- and no one is as good as Usopp, our sniper.

She’s not as mechanically minded as Franky, not as interested in learning ancient (recent) history as Robin, and has been declared by Chopper an acceptable field medic- meaning she can stitch up some pretty nasty cuts, and provide treatment for basic wounds, but would probably be lost in a surgery.

Brook has in her a student in music- as well as Luffy; but neither of them are really taken by it. Luffy is just happy to be learning about something he likes so much; and Taffy wants to learn the basics of a great many instruments, which is pleasing for Brook.

Nami is teaching her navigation and navigational sciences, which Taffy learns very quickly, but has no real talent for- or rather, she only _just_ has the knack, and Nami outstrips her by so much… she can follow Nami’s conclusions, but she’d have a terrible time making them. Nami is also teaching her how to pick locks, what’s good for stealing, and how to talk her way out of trouble, which she is much better at.

Sanji is actually teaching her more than just basic cooking and confections. It’s hard to pick out because of the general noise of the kitchen, but Sanji actually makes very very little noise when he’s walking casually, and none at all when he’s fighting. It also turns out that Taffy has a particular love of candy and baking, neither of which are classified by Sanji as “cooking”, as cooking is an artform, and candy-making and baking are chemistry. When Usopp heard that tidbit, he immediately wanted in, which has lead to the advent of smoke bombs and flash bombs in Taffy’s arsenal. Usopp is not good at making candy- very good at baking. Taffy’s actually very good at making candy, not so much baking.

 

Of all the Kids, Taffy’s the first one to name her attacks.

When I told her what she was doing looked a hell of a lot like Ninjutsu- meaning Ninja Spells, or Magic, the translation I remember was pretty vague- she immediately decided that she’d call all of her moves some kind of spell or hex. So far, she’s got Jumping Spell, which lets her leap from a standing start on the lawn deck, all the way to the roof of the observatory; Inention Spell, which lets her immediately judge the mood of a room- and as she gets better at reading the mood, she’s developing more… exotic uses for it. Apparently arrangements of foods have their own intentions? So that’s interesting. Fading Spell- she’s a little odd about this one, she can’t really explain it clearly. Basically, as far as I can figure from the outside, instead of fading into the _background_ , like Usopp, or the _midground_ , like Mark, she fades into the _foreground,_ like me. It’s not a far jump from Fading Spell to what’s she’s calling Fading Hex; the ability to not fade into the foreground, but into a completely different illusory form...

Bryony was next- she calls her moves Songs.

Or rather- she named each of her individual moves some kind of musical _something_ , and then… she’s really only got a few. Love Song; Fight Song; Dance Song; Healing Song… as many adjectives as she can attach to Songs, really. Chopper’s also teaching her massage and acupressure- her Healing Song is intense and made Zoro vomit for about a day. It also fixed his liver of all alcohol damage, so it’s not like it didn’t work...

And finally, Mark. Mark calls them Waves.

My least favorite to defend against isn’t Mist Wave, which gets _everywhere-_ no, it’s Trace Wave. He’s figured out how to make the water-bullets follow his targets- because, as it turns out, Mark actually has terrible aim. He’s got no natural talent for it, like Usopp- everything he can do with a bullet is the result of discipline and focus.

 

 

One day, Mark asks me about my _fauna_ , Sooty Ravelle- and by extension, my _fanila_. We’re sitting in the dining room, getting ready for lunch- so as I explain what my _fauna_ was like, the room steadily fills. I don’t realize I’ve been talking about it to my whole crew until quite a bit later.

 

“What’s your Mom like, Mab?”

“Ah? Oh- um. Well. Redneck? Mom’s a redneck.”

“...what, like mine where it’s all sunburnt?”

“No, like- like you know that one time Zoro got too drunk to fish?”

“Haha, yeah.”

“Well- I mean, **I’m** a redneck.”

“Wait, really?”

“I’ve hauled a can of paint to the top of a water tower to defend my sisters’ honor, there’s not much more redneck you can get than that.”

“That- that’s a thing?”

“Mhm. Made some lovely calligraphy up there, too. Uh- Morgans are Creole, and Portgases are Cajun, but that doesn't really explain much... Let me see… Alright. -Mom’s office has a taxidermied alligator hanging from the ceiling rafters- named Tallulah- and it was full of bullet holes in the belly because she’d shoot it every now and again so she wouldn’t shoot her subordinates, so sometimes this puff of cotton batting would float down and land on people, usually like, right after she had shot it again. She also wasn't allowed by my Aunt Zippy- Tzipporah- to buy a new one with Official funds, so she had to finance a new one every three or four years herself, which kept up her weaponsmithing pretty well. Her Office subordinates were- maybe still are... not all that bright? An’ a course, we had- Sam Tally Muddy Annie Jacks- five dogs? All of which had the run of the house, and they’d get mud and dog slobber on absolutely everything- an' a course, her spit was basically the same as 409-”

“The cleaning stuff Sanji wipes the stove down with?”

“Yeah, that’s the stuff. Her spit on a hanky would get rust of a hinge, much less goo off a kid’s face.”

“Is that why you do the thing with the hanky whenever someone’s really upset?”

“Well, it’s what Mom did for me and my sisters, so- yeah, basically.”

“So… what’s different about… like, do you have any funny stories, or…?”

“Um- actually… Okay. Preface this to say- the way Sanji and I approach marriage is not the way the majority of the Noble world approaches it. For most people, Mom’s family included, it’s basically a permanent declaration of love, okay? Okay, so… Mom has a whole extended family that we’re not supposed to talk about, but what do I care, you're _fanila_ . Er, family. So… I was about fourteen at the time, so the Littles were... they were five, had to be, and a few weeks into that summer we get invited to [ my cousin Sherry’s wedding ](https://youtu.be/ytXk17pVXyA) in Andante, which is a small town to the south- but not South- of Fiddler’s Green. Now, I got the feeling it was a hurry-up wedding, because the invitation was a fax-”

 

Franky snorted.

 

“-and someone had written at the bottom “B.Y.O.L.C.”, which we later realized meant “Bring Your Own Lawn Chair”. Apparently they were getting married in my Uncle Wayan’s backyard- I guess because the OB/GYN told them they didn’t have six weeks to wait on the church? So my Aunt Tzipporah, my Mom’s wife, was visiting the Office that day and I was making jokes about it being a hurry-up wedding and my Auntie said “Don’t you dare say anything about Sherry, she’s the sweetest girl alive- she never tells anybody ‘No’ about anything.”

 

I Look very carefully up at the ceiling, then down at the table. Work my mouth a bit. Robin sniggers. I look back at Mark, smirk, and continue.

 

“To which, all I could think at the time was ‘Pretty much why we’re having to go to Andante, now, ain’t it.’ Of course, I didn’t say that because Aunt Zippy had that real sharp look in her eye like it’d be better for my health if I didn’t say jackshit. So I didn’t.”

 

Zoro is eating slowly, a sort of gleeful light in his eye.

 

“Now, Aunt Zippy knows everything about everyone on that side of the family, so I says to her- “Well, Aunt Zippy, how’d she even meet this guy?” and my Aunt Zippy says “Well they met in a laundromat-” so, right there, you know it was anointed by God- but apparently Sherry needed change for the dryer and this guy Dusty just walked over and gave her half a roll of… they’re called quarters, but that works out to about… eh, two hundred berri in coinage? Yeah, there-abouts. Anyway, after that I’m pretty sure Frisky Sherry woulda had sex with him for a slushie and a scratch’n’go lotto ticket, but-”

 

Nami is snorting tea out her nose but trying to hide it with a napkin.

 

“Anyway, Aunt Zippy wants to go- none of the rest of us do, but she does- and Mom can’t say no to her; and, of course, Aunt Zippy can’t just go on her alonesome, she doesn’t like taking the ferry by herself or flying at all. So, Mom _,_ being a reasonable sort, decides that if she has to go we _all_ have to go, so we all go- me, her, and the Littles.

As soon as she agreed, Aunt Zippy starts pitching for us to stay at my Uncle RayRay and Aunt Tiny’s house, and I don’t want to do this because I’m allergic to ferrets, and I’m like “Aunt Zippy, why don’t we just stop at the Hotel Six in Dorian?” and my Aunt says, and I quote, “Well, I don’t want our folks thinkin’ we’re uppity.” -which is a real possibility in my family. Hell, one year at the family reunion, my cousin- Cousin Lafite with the eight kids- brought three different cakes and all day long our folks were like “well if it isn’t Mister Sugar Daddy come to see the farm-” and uh... Pretty sure Cousin Lafite ain’t been conscious more’n forty hours total in his life- so anyway, at the risk of being uppity, we stopped at the Hotel Six in Dorian.”

 

Sanji has put his cigarette in the ashtray so he won’t swallow it as he cackles.

 

“Now, if I had but known it was chili bean cook off weekend, I’d’a called ahead for reservations- because they only had one room available and from the smell of it, some of the past chili bean cook off winners had stayed there.”

 

Luffy is cackling and hasn’t stopped yet. So is Chopper, actually.

 

“So we get to the room and I’d thought they’d be giving us a pair of beds, but no- it’s a single king sized bed and a pull out couch and _that’s_ **_it_ **. Me and the Littles- my nine younger sisters- get the big bed, while Aunt Zippy and my fauna take the pull out. All of this would have been fine but for one thing-”

 

I stop. Take a drink of my room temperature water. Work out how exactly to say the next bit. Ah, here we go.

 

“Well, you Learn Things on Family Trips. For example, we learned that I get train sick the first summer back from boarding school when my Aunt Zippy had to catch my vomit in her bare hands. This trip, we all learned that the Hotel Six in Dorian only uses toilet paper and prayer as wall insulation, because the couple in the room next to us liked each other. They liked each other like Sanji and I like each other all day and every night- so they liked each other _a lot_ . And _loudly_. I, at least, make an effort not to bellow so loud I shatter glass; these people had no such restraint.”

 

Sanji is wheezing, as is Nami. If Zoro laughs any harder, he might pass out.

 

“So me, my sisters, and my Aunt Zippy and Mom laid in our beds in the dark and listened to this couple _like_ each other for an hour and a half.”

 

Sanji coughs and stares at me. I look back at him and nod. ‘An hour and a half?’ I nod again. ‘Damn.’ I nod some more, because-

 

“At some point during the night, my Aunt hissed to Mom “you need to do something!” to which Mom replied “I’m about to walk next door and ask for their autographs.” Well, the next day I go and take a look because I want to see who these people are; because you listen to such things, you get a mental image of what they look like. I go over, crack the door, peek out at them- and I wish to god I hadn’t. They were not small, or fit. Like. Gelatin towers. It was awful.”

 

Sanji is howling with laughter, but has a hand pressed against his mouth because… I don’t know. It was really, really awful. I shudder the memory away.

 

“So we left the hotel and took the ferry down to my Uncle Wayan’s; had to use canoes to get there on account of him living in a house on stilts in the middle of a swamp. We get there and there’s boats everywhere so we have to moor ours to a tree and jump from boat to boat to actually get to the dock proper, and as we’re leaping up to the dock we pass a big canoe with what at first glance appears to be someone passed out in the bottom of the boat. Like- urgh, so drunk, you know? I was like ‘the hell-?’, so I walks up to it and belted into boat like they do if you’re extra jumpy was a dead catfish the size of a toddler. I asked one of my cousins inside what was up with the catfish and she said- swear to god she said this- ‘It leapt up in the boat on our way over and we didn’t wanna throw it back because there’s a feast we’s goin’ to later on and we said we’d bring a fish for it anyway.’ So there we are.”

 

I take another drink. Everyone is wheezing, giggling, or snickering- Brook hasn’t stopped laughing yet. Robin is writing my words down with a wide grin on her face.

 

“So I’m carrying my lawn chair and I go out to the back yard and the entire pool and the deck are covered in [ electric yule lights ](http://media.gettyimages.com/photos/tangled-pile-of-colored-christmas-lights-picture-id82981324?s=170667a)-” and they’re down, Zoro, Nami, Sanji, and Robin are on the ground, wheezing with laughter, “-and when I asked Cousin Lefite how long it took to put up them lights he said to me “Well, we was here two years ago and they were up then so I don’t think they ever came down.” A course, Cousin Lefite… I dunno, is it still sleepwalking if that’s just how you live your life?

Anyway, my point is- it was then, in that moment, that the thought ‘I might be a redneck’ first came to me; it would not be the last.

So they start the ceremony and my cousin Sherry who is eight- eight? - yeah, eight months pregnant comes out in a snow white wedding dress. The irony of this is lost on my Aunt Zippy, who leans over and says “That’s the same dress her mother got married in.”

 

Zoro was trying to sit back up, but he’s on the ground again. Robin has put her journal over her face and is heaving with laughter. Nami has tears and snot running down her face. Usopp is staring at me because he tells stories that couldn’t possibly be true (and then turn out to be true after all)- but my stories? You hope to god they aren’t true.

They’re true.

God help me, but they’re true.

 

“Near as I could figure at the time, Aunt Zippy was either trying to be polite, or she really didn’t see the obvious conundrum of the situation.

-Ceremony was nice- they’d got their contract squared away before the party, so that’s one thing done right in the whole mess… and then we had to leave again.

Now, most people when they leave, they get in the boat, set her to sail, and go on- not my family.

So, out the back of my Uncle Wayan’s, there’s a lagoon. After the wedding, Sherry and Dusty get in his skimmer and proceed to do donuts in the lagoon water, and the third time round her skirt tore off on a tree branch, and I’m standing next to Granuna who threw her forty of whiskey on the ground and said ‘If this lasts six months I’ll kiss a good man’s ass.’

All this to say- the exact burn mark Mom has on her left buttcheek is there because Granuna forgot to take her smoking pipe out of her mouth, on account of Sherry and Dusty- as far as I know- still being married; and Mom, of course, wasn’t fast enough to get away. So. Uh. That’s what my Mom and family is like, I guess.”

 

I take a long drink from my water. Mark is in tears from laughing so hard. I finish my lunch, and snigger occasionally. My crewmates eventually wheeze themselves back into coherency and finish their lunches. The day is further punctuated by various giggle fits.

 

* * *

 

I wasn’t sure until after the fact how it happened. A long time ago, I thought- I thought Mab said something about siren song being intoxicating? I don’t think it’s just Sirens, I think it’s all the Tribes of Skua- because, well… But Mab didn’t sing, is the thing. Her voice will take on the occasional musical tone, but she didn’t sing. She hardly _ever_ sings. I don’t get drunk very easily, neither does Zoro, so I guess that’s why it didn’t happen earlier…

His lips aren’t… I never really looked at them, but they aren’t chapped. He shaves, he must- I can feel the soft rasp of close shaved hair on my skin. His hands are very broad, callused from where he wields his swords. I’d expected more force from his mouth- he wields a sword with his teeth, for god’s sake; but no.

No.

He’s gentle, almost hesitant- the soft brush of his lips are warm like flannel. He’s warm, too, solid as he holds me and-

 

We were laughing again over the story Mab told, and it was about time for us to switch watches- I took first watch this time, and Zoro usually takes second or third. We were giggling at each other, giggling over nothing- after the strangeness of the past few weeks, it felt _so good_ to laugh over something uncomplicated. I had turned, maybe too quickly- nearly tipped myself down the stairs, but Zoro caught me before I could fall. We tipped back upright, he tipped us back upright- and he was, shaking? Shaking. Right, his friend died by falling down the stairs; I probably didn’t help matters by nearly falling down them a week or two back...

I wrapped my arms around his waist, pressed myself into him until he stopped shaking. I’m only a little bit shorter than Zoro; I was able to rub my cheek against his. I don’t know quite what made me press my lips to his. But I did it.

He smells like- like metal, like booze, like… oil from swords and musky man-smell. His shirt is simple cotton, and his hair is surprisingly soft. I can feel his heart start to pound in his chest, from where my breasts are pressed against him- he’s very… he’s warm.

We weren’t standing directly in the stairway; we were standing by the banister. His lips are soft and warm, and his mouth is gentle but he’s not- moving- I rub my lips against his a little. He makes a soft noise, like a squeak but deeper, then tentatively moves his lips against mine. I hum and smile, and he- leans back, okay. I let him go, look at him. The moonlight paints his tanned skin copper; his green hair blazes silver. He’s blushing. He’s blushing so hard, it’s- it’s cute. He wasn’t- he wasn’t _excited_ where he was pressed against me, hip to hip, but he kissed me back and he seemed like he enjoyed it so why-

 

“I have to- I have to take the next watch, excuse me-”

“Zoro, wait-”

“Sorry- I can’t- Sorry, Nami-”

 

He didn’t _quite_ run away. I’ve never, ever known Zoro to run away. But he still moved as quickly as he could away from me, up to the observatory. I don’t understand at all. Mab’s still probably awake, it’s- it’s after sunset but the moon just rose, that’s what we set our watches by. It’s only seven or so, and winter watch is always longest during the second one, not the first. I- I don’t-

I know!

I’ll talk to Mab, and I’ll bring Zoro his dinner, I’ll- I’ll eat dinner with him and talk to him about what just happened. Mab’s song got stuck in my head, a bit- not talking about what just happened is probably worse than just talking about it. There’s nothing so frightening we can’t talk about it, I don’t think.

I go into the dining room and see that yes, it’s dinner time, and Sanji has a plate ready for Zoro; but I need to talk to Mab.

 

“So, I just kissed Zoro and he ran away- kind of, Zoro doesn’t really run away from things. Thoughts, Mab?”

Sanji yelped and bobbled the dinner platter before carefully setting it down and taking hanks of his hair in both hands. And now he’s hunching- no, he’s not, Mab just pushed her back into his chest and he’s curling around her. They really are good for each other- Sanji likes having someone to hold when he’s really scared or surprised, and Mab likes comforting him. They have a system, and it really really works for them.

 

“Ah. Well, for one thing- you do realize all the experience Zoro has with sex and romance is observatory, right?”

“...Really?”

“Yep. For another, Zoro is a Stoic; he endures pain and hardship without complaint. I’m not sure how far that goes the other way, but… As for the rest, you’ll need to talk to him about it- how he feels about you kissing him, Sex and Romance, the whole bit. I know some, but it’s his business to tell you, not mine. -and yes, you have to talk about your feelings too, Nami. A good partner gives as much as they take.”

Robin hummed thoughtfully when Mab mentioned ‘not knowing how far (Zoro’s stoicism) went’, almost as if she’d realized something about him. If I need more information, I’ll look it up.

 

“Fair. Sanji, can you put my dinner on the tray as well? I need to talk to Zoro, and this might be the only really private time we’ll get.”

“Uh- s-sure, Nami-chwan.”

Sanji uncurled from his hunch, and ruffled his hair back into it’s normal side part. Mab rubbed one of her- she has cold hands- she rubbed a cold hand over his face, which seemed to settle him back in his skin- and then she pinched his ass (uuuugh) which made him squeak before he darted off to the kitchen.

 

“Mm. Try not to do anything physical with him until after you know where he’s coming from, Nami.”

“Gotcha, Mab.”

“-ah, Sanji, why are you carrying me over your shoulder like this-?”

“-Do you not like it, I can- I can stop-”

“-No, it’s alright, go for it. G’night, Robin!”

“-Good Night you two crazy lovebirds.”

 

 

I take the larger tray with both our dinners on it, and go out to the observatory. It’s not a [ romantic ](https://youtu.be/GAkz6mDzubA)setup for dinner- sandwiches, bowls of soup closed with lids, two coffee cups and our silverware on the normal metal plates, a bottle of grog and a thermos of coffee over my shoulder. It’s not all that hard to climb up to the observatory one handed with dinner, I’ve done it before.

In the open air room, Zoro is a bulwark of fragile silence.

The first star of the evening, Venus (actually a planet, the more you know), is soon joined by the winter moon, Kólga. Her harsh blue light shines on the sparkling waves, gone quiet in the cold of the night; the blue light makes everything in the warm room shine faintly grey. I set the tray next to Zoro, take a seat so that our backs are facing opposing directions, but we can look at each other’s faces.

 

“Not your turn for watch.”

“No, but we need to talk, Zoro.”

“Um-”

“I- Mab told me that you don’t really have any… you don’t have any physical experience with sex or romance, right?”

“...Yeah.”

“Okay. So, why did you- I thought you liked the kiss, so why-?”

“Swordsmen shouldn’t be beholden to their emotions, Nami. I’m- I’m too powerful, too dangerous to be so unrestrained, and… I…”

“You’d never hurt me, Zoro.”

“That’s not the problem.”

“What is, then?”

“I- You’re right, I did like the kiss. But- ‘I neither seek pleasure nor fear pain.’ I- I can’t.”

“...So, what, that’s a tenet of your sword philosophy?”

“Yes.”

“And- sorry, but, I kissed you, not the other way around.”

“Um. What’s the difference?”

“Well- for one thing, you didn’t seek pleasure, you reacted to my seeking of it. And… I guess you left because you felt confused and- _different-_ and you didn’t want to… you didn’t want to lash out before you had a chance to think it over. Right…?”

“-Yeah. Yeah, that’s it.”

“Well. I mean- different isn’t good, and it isn’t bad. It’s just- _not the same_. So… after we eat, maybe later- like tomorrow- do you want to try it again?”

“...”

“It’s- it’s hard to form a real understanding about what something is from just the, the one experience. And- you weren’t bad at it, if that’s a concern, you just… you didn’t have much idea about what to do, so, I-”

“Nami. Breathe.”

“-! I- whoo. Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“I just meant- I meant that if you didn’t like it, you should say so now. But if you did like it...”

“I- I might have liked it a little too much.”

 

 

 

We eat our food, clear our plates; stack the dirty dishes neatly. I hold a mug of grog, while Zoro nurses a cup of coffee. I look up through the clear glass ceiling, observing the stars.

I sip my drink.

I look out over the waves; our stilled ship bobs in gentle waters. The light of the many moons dance over the skipping waves.

I finish my drink, and set the mug back on the tray.

I sit with Zoro until my eyes start drifting and skipping, like the waves. I’m not drunk- just tired, I think. Still-

I have an idea of what he’s thinking like, feeling like.

I smile, bump my shoulder into his. He smiles back, glances at me- the back of his neck and his ears go a burnished copper in Blóðughadda’s light.

I look at him, and he looks at me; our eyes lock together. The blood-haired light shines pink and red and soft. I lean forwards and buss my lips against his cheek, soft, soft, like a nuzzle but with lips instead of noses.

When I draw back, his blush is suddenly clear and present across his entire face, Himinglæva’s clear bright light making subtleties plain. He runs a callused hand up my arm, over my shoulder and up the side of my face, presses his warm gentle mouth against my cheek and rubs his rough thumb against my lower lip.

We kiss again, slower, warmer, softer. The sharp bittersweet twang of coffee; his warm mouth on my own. It feels like flower petals, just after they’ve bloomed, like- like the shimmer of gold. Zoro kisses dangerous.

I draw back again, because- job.

Zoro’s on watch duty right now, it wouldn’t be- I look at him. I look at [ him ](http://orig10.deviantart.net/4a17/f/2012/091/e/4/__realistic_zoro___by_codenamezimbabwe-d4uolrm.jpg) in the moonlight. I see my [ reflection ](http://orig14.deviantart.net/2fe7/f/2012/222/6/4/__nami___by_codenamezimbabwe-d5amr3e.jpg)in his eyes. The yellow light of Hevring makes us both look like we do during the day, or maybe- maybe warmer- I-

 

“You’re still on watch.”

“Yes.”

“So, um- tomorrow. I- we could continue this, just- tomorrow, alright?”

“Yes. Tomorrow.”

“I- I’ll take the dishes back down.”

“Okay. -Nami, the ladder is the other way.”

“Right! Right, I know that, right-”

 

~~Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit. Fuck. Shit fuck shit. Zoro means everything he says and does, shit shit shit shit. Fuck, what do I do?~~

 

* * *

 

I like my job on the crew. I like being in charge of our snails; growing dark green leafy plants for them- kale, red lettuce, spinach; spritzing them with their vitamins, setting up their humidifier; making sure they each have their own smooth rocks painted with moss they can nibble on, except for Tuner, who likes their sleeping rock to be heated under a heating lamp, and on the dry side. I also like making sure each rig is in good repair. Ouna Mab gave me a [ specialized jeweler’s loupe ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/1a/93/ad/1a93ad6cef31fc356dc2ac9c2a2fde70.jpg) and a [ tool set ](http://laptopbatteryone.com/media/catalog/product/cache/1/small_image/600x600/9df78eab33525d08d6e5fb8d27136e95/2/6/26-piece-toolkit-1_1.jpg) she purpose built for use on the various rigs for the Den Den Mushi. I love my crewmates. Usopp is fun to collaborate with, and Franky is a good teacher. Sanji doesn’t coddle me anymore, not since after Mab had a word with him, and Luffy’s fun to talk to about the stories we both read. He likes romance novels a lot more than the adventure stories I read- I think because he grew up going on the real thing, he’s _going_ on the real thing, so he doesn’t need to read about it. Romance is different- I saw Mab curating all our romance novels one day, and she took a bunch out of the library- muttered something about “terrible perpetuation of unrealistic sexual standards- the rest are escapism, so I’ll let them slide, but these are no good- I can do better, these could be so much better, I’m doing better than this-” and then she walked off.

 

Mab has very Firm Views on what is and isn’t proper.

 

Brook, also, has very Firm Views on what is and isn’t proper. We get into arguments- not mean ones, but definitely real ones, about the various merits of our personal musical styles. I like making music you can dance to, music that’s easily made and consumed. Brook touches people's souls. We’re different- but I’m not sure either way is necessarily better.

 

 

 

I hate my job on the crew. I have to, by necessity, sleep the lightest out of all of us. At any moment, someone on watch could hit the alarm, which means I immediately have to coordinate with the watcher on what they see and what the emergency is. Which means I’m always listening to the observatory.

There are some things about my crewmates I’d rather learn second or third hand, not by accidentally eavesdropping. With that said, I’ve also won forty beri off Robin; she bet Zoro initiated the kiss.

 

* * *

 

So a few days after Nami did something about Zoro’s crush on her, Bryony and I ended up having a conversation about discretion during Taffeta’s every other-daily lesson in baking- Sanji’s not really willing to make candy as often as Taffy wants to, mostly because our crops of sugar beets aren’t ready to support it yet. Candy’s actually a very good medium for administering various kinds of drugs- I might make a suggestion to Chopper about it. Focus, Mab.

Sanji’s a good teacher- confident in his student, passionate about what he’s teaching, engages her in what she’s doing- he’s a good teacher. Praises her when she does it right, disciplines her when she does it wrong; he’s… gosh he’s never been more handsome. Hnngrk. Focus!

And fold your origami, best to get a start on Yule decorations before you need them.

 

“So you’re having trouble with discretion?”

“Is that what this is? I mean- I realized when I got up for the day that I couldn’t collect on the bet I made with Robin- not because I don’t know the outcome, but because they haven’t told us.”

“Ahm. Sounds to me you’ve got a good handle on the discretion you need to have.”

“I guess, but- but it’s a short trip to not having that discretion, and I just… I don’t want to reveal any secret about the crew, any secret that would hurt them if it were known.”

“Mm. And, of course, you’re in the position of having access to all of our secrets, all the little moments that matter most-”

“Exactly. I have no place in Zoro and Nami’s business, I have no place in their bed- I shouldn’t know what they said, I can’t-”

“You want to give them their privacy, but you want to keep your Honor, too.”

“Yes, exactly.”

“Mm… Sorry to tell you this, but- in this, your Honor is of more importance. Your job of keeping the crew safe and in communication is more important than our privacy.”

“But-”

“In the same way that Sanji’s job requires him to keep a watch over our crewmates and our supplies, as does mine; requires us to have very intimate knowledge of everyone aboard this ship... -Bryony, we’re supporters. Nami, Luffy, Zoro, and Usopp- _they_   lead. The rest of us- follow. Your job is to co-ordinate the moment to moment bits and bobs; making sure that the people in back are kept to the beat of the people in front.”

“I just- I can’t stop thinking about it. I- I don’t know what to do, and it’s driving me a little crazy, and I can’t write it down-”

“...Like everything is becoming more and more awful, and you can’t find a way out.”

“Yes, yes that’s it exactly.”

“...I have a song for this. Do you want it, or-?”

“Please.”

“Alright- [ Here comes a thought… ](https://youtu.be/oIRwc0_jGsM)

 

 

> _~Take a moment to find yourself_
> 
> _Take a moment to remind yourself_
> 
> _Take a moment to ask yourself if this is how you fall apart_
> 
> _But it’s not but it’s not but it’s not but it’s not but it’s not_
> 
> _It’s okay it’s okay it’s okay it’s okay it’s okay_
> 
> _You’ve got nothing got nothing got nothing got nothing to fear_
> 
> _I’m here, I’m here, I’m here~_ ”
> 
>  

 

The table’s covered in [ paper butterflies ](http://www.lifehacker.co.in/photo/48283488/jugaad/How-To-Make-Beautiful-Origami-Butterflies-Video.jpg). Bryony is- smiling, but crying too. Instead of beginning to stitch the butterflies together- and there’s a heap of them, all kinds, swallowtails, a luna moth or two, a two-toned bastard, and so on- before that. I put the half brick back on my reserved origami paper- I still have to make the ladder, but- I set all my working materials aside, and stand, and go around the table to Bryony who is still crying. I pull out the chair next to her and sit and hold out my arms and- ooouf. Ease up, ease up, you’ll crack my ribs- there we go, it’s okay. I’m here. I’m here.

This was really bothering her- and, of course, there’s the whole thing with what happened on Floria, which I think was bothering her more. I- I don’t know people need help unless they tell me. My brother, Spadille, has been telling me he needs help since he was twelve- all but screaming it. It’s my failure that I didn’t realize what he was trying to say until now.

Bryony goes off to have a nap- she was so concerned about this that she couldn’t even sleep all that well. (Bryony actually dozes through most of the night; for her, sleep really comes during the day, same as Zoro.)

 

 

 

One day, I realize something really important. I have two very different work areas. So does my husband.

 

“Sanji, we missed two blessings.”

“Hmm? We did?”

“Mm. It’s not that strange, really- we didn’t know how often we’d be cleaning our work areas, which is why I mentioned it.”

“...I’m not having sex in the pantry.”

“Well, no, there’s food in there; but you clean the kitchen every day.”

“-Okay, well, what about your work areas?”

“Not the studio, too much fabric. The _laundry,_ on the other hand-”

“Ugh, no, it stinks.”

“Well, when it’s in use, sure.”

“...So, what, now?”

“No, unless-”

“-I mean. I kinda would like to have you in my kitchen.” 

I smile faintly, and look at him. In the dimmed light of our sleeping quarters, his eyes glimmer almost amethyst.

 

“What, you wanna eat me **all** up?”

“Pfft. Yeah, a little bit.”

“Hmhmhm. MMmmph♥. I- oooh, oh yes- I wish you would… I wish you would touch my whole wing, not just the bases, the- aaaaaaaaAH, ah. I know that you’re- I know you hate bugs now-”

“Mab-”

“I have- they’re anatomically more like the wings of a dragonfly, and that’s fine, I wouldn’t- and you’re very-”

“Roll over.”

“-What?”

“Roll over, onto your stomach.”

“...Why…?”

“ _Pchelka_ , please just trust me.”

“I- alright, _agapité mou_.”

 

A bit confused, I roll over in our bed until my stomach is flat against the squishy bedding. My head turns and mushes into- my face is warm against the cool pillow. Sanji kneels across the small of my back, most of his weight held on his kneeling legs, in his broad thighs. And then he touches-

 

“What’s this?”

“Costa on the forewing, left siiiiiide, fffaaaah...”

“And here?”

“Nnnodus- mmmnngh, and that’s the pterostigma, sensitive to pressure ah ah ah AH TOO MUCH TOO MUCH T-tooooo much, gnngh-”

“Sorry, sorry-”

“It’s okay, just- gentle. You have to be gentle.”

“Okay. Sorry. And these are crossveins…?”

“Hmhmhmhmhmhmhm ye-eh-es, nnnaaahahahahahaha, s-stop!”

“Pfft, sorry, sorry.”

 

I dig my hands into the pillow under my throat and chin, breathe slowly.

 

“Alright, that’s the subnodus, aaaaaaaaaaaaaaah, subcosta, subcosta, oh, oh- oh oh oh-”

“Hmhm!”

“Oh oh oh oh aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah ah ah ah too much-”

“Faster, there.”

“Untouched.”

“...really?”

“Well- wing touching is an intimate thing to do, as far as sex goes. And… you’re the only one who’s ever wanted to- Ooooh, oh please be gentle that’s the triangle, that feels really good please go slowly-”

“Yeah, of course- Woah!”

“S-sorry, sorry, I’ll try to hold still-”

“No, it’s okay. I like it when you’re less restrained; I like the sounds you make, I like the way you move and...”

“So- what, you like me?”

“I like all of you.”

“Aside from the forgetfulness, and the viciousness, and the bug wings-”

“No. I like you exactly as you are. Can I kiss them?”

“Ah- Wh-what?”

“Your wings, can I kiss them?”

“S-sure? AaaaaaAAAAAAh, ah, Ooooh, oh my god-”

 

His mouth is hot against the triangle in my forewings, his tongue is wet and warm and laves shudders of pleasure all down my spine and between my legs my hips oh god oh god oh god oh god ohgodyesyesyesyesyesyeeeeeeeeeeeeees oh♥ yes♥ GGGNNNNGH TOO MUCH TOO MUCH- and now he’s on the hind wings holding them in his hands ffffaaaaaaaaaaaahk-

 

“These the same as the forewings? Anatomically, I mean?”

“...yes but the left one is, is more sensitive be extra gentle- RADIUS BE GENTLE OF THE RADIUS oh oh oh oh-”

“-hmmm-”

 

I press my face into the pillow and squeal. Sanji is humming against my wings and it feels so good it’s all I can do not to buck him off and take my husband then and there ah ah ahahahahahahahahahahaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah oh oh oh oh god oh god Sanji! I, I, I-aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah ohgodohgodohgodohgod I can’t I can’t aches so much- I need- him-

 

I twist between his legs and pull him up by the armpits roll again and pin him between my thighs and s- stop. His hair is all flopped back against his face and across the pillowcase his eyes are blown wide and dilated blue ringing black the stripe of his Line sharp across his cheeks the bridge of his nose eyebrows spiraling and my hair is long and red and soft around us like a curtain smelling of honeysuckle and he’s smiling and I- I-

 

“Yes?”

“Oh god Mab yes-”

 

 

[ I see him. I want him. ](https://youtu.be/WDZJPJV__bQ) So, I take him.

Swallow his wanton cries and swallow his thrusting hips and swallow his quivering fingers in my warm flexing embrace and swallow and swallow and follow him- down.

Wake- exhausted, but warm. We sleep in that day.

 

 

 

Shadow; a dark area or shape produced by a body- a form- coming between rays of light and a surface, creating an image. Shadow can be used in reference to proximity, ominous oppressiveness, or sadness and gloom. They can envelop, cast, follow, observe closely and secretly.

Shadows are interesting.

They’re deep, yet flat; formed and formless. A shadow is the image cast when the form is between light and the rest of the world, and the image does not **dare** deviate from the form- not when it’s being observed.

 

I fold origami with the shadows of the paper. I nuzzle against my husband with my shadow and listen to him whimper helplessly. When he says it’s okay, I nuzzle into his shadow and listen to him moan. I rub my shadow against his and that actually knocks us both out, so- but. Now I can’t not know where he is, I can’t not find him. I know exactly where he is, have some idea of how he feels- occasionally, I’ll close my eyes and see through his.

 

“MAB STOP LOOKING THROUGH MY EYES IT’S DISORIENTING AS SHIT-”

“IT’S NOT LIKE YOU CAN’T LOOK THROUGH MINE SANJI, WHAT THE HELL-”

 

And then he actually did it.

Oh god that was- itchy and awkward and indescribably odd, having the weight of someone else’s gaze burning through my eyes. I know for a fact my gaze can pierce through to a man’s heart; but Sanji’s gaze… it _cuts_ , it _weighs_ , it _measures_. So I stop looking through his eyes. Sometimes it happens just because, but I’m getting better at not letting myself linger on what he sees.

Just passing through.

Shadows- that’s a misnomer. There’s only **_one_ ** shadow; many lights, but one shadow, **one** shade. All the shadows, all the Shadow is just itself- through time, through place, through myself- it’s all the same thing. There is only the one, but it’s… it’s ubiquitous.

I can move things through the shadow- first, needles. Folded paper flowers, beads, bobbins; steadily making the things I can move through the cool shade bigger and bigger. I’ll be able to move myself through the shadow eventually, but- for now, I can manage my fingertips, my hands into my pockets into a dark drawer in my studio into my dark closed locker next to Sanji’s into a sea chest into a drawer or a box or a basket- you just need to not be able to see into it. I find I’m able to feel where people are looking based on the feel of their shadow.

Shadows aren’t just outside your body; they’re ** _in_** you. They’re every part of yourself that you want to ignore, every hated impulse and terrible idea. If I look just right, I can feel where the totality of a person’s shadow is, and just by observing my crewmates I can start to judge the ripples of their shadows as signals of their focus, and slowly feel out intentions as well. One day, Luffy watches me fold paper flowers and use my Shadow power to stitch them together- **_Shadow Stitching: Garland_** _-_ and his eyes- sparkle. Now **there** is a thought.

 

“Captain- if you go get a screen- big enough to fit short ways across the table- like in a fancy Wano-style house from Franky, like- a window- I’ll tell you a story or two.”

“Really?!”

“Mm.”

 

And he ran off. He came back about ten minutes later with Usopp, Chopper, and- Franky, who installed the screen for me. It’s quite nice, actually- sturdy construction, fits all the way across the table without much more than a playing card’s width between the posts of the screen and the edge of the table. The Kids settle onto the kitchen bench; Franky sits with them. Nami and Zoro appear too- ah, it’s lunch soon, isn’t it.

No matter.

 

Take a votive candle with a small directional box to point the light at the screen- and so… The first story is one they all probably know- [ Urashima Taro](https://youtu.be/VR6_m_qXbKg) is a pretty old story. It’s not actually what happened, but it’s definitely true. I tell it with a bottle of ink, folded paper animals, cut paper puppets, crickets to sing an orchestra and spiders to pluck. The tuning of the orchestra brings in Brook and settles him next to Nami, who is sitting across from Zoro. I look at my friends. I look at my supplies. I swallow, and sigh- and begin the next one by [ cawing like a crow](https://youtu.be/TgmEEDyeDv8?t=1m10s). Tradition has it’s place- this, for me at least, is one of them.

 

And then- I hardly have anything else to say. So for the last one, [I say nothing at all.](https://youtu.be/vDojanzKKmw)

 

 

 

I pause- 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1-

“An’ the wheel bend, an’ the story end. Lunchtime, yes?”

“Yes.” says Sanji.

“Right.”

 

My hands go together and out like I’m silencing an orchestra; over the screen drops my shawl, under whom’s heaving edge scurries every beast and bird I made for this moment in time. I press my hands to the top of the shawl and flat against the table with a soft ‘pap’ of not quite sound. Tug my shawl away and wrap it around my shoulders, tie the knot behind my back, under my wings where it won’t bother anything. The table is blank; I blow out the candle, throw a napkin over it, smack it flat and wipe the table down. There’s nothing actually on the table, of course- everything is in a box or on a shelf in my dimmed studio- it’s just for the look of it, nothing actually spilled.

 

“Franky, when you get a chance, could you put up some tacks on the mast in here? It’s about time to put up some Yule decorations.”

“Sure thing, Mab.”

 

I smile, flip my napkin into my lap, and very firmly ignore the sparkling look Luffy is giving me, as he is a silly man and-

 

“Gooey eyes don’t work on me Captain. I’m hungry, so I’m eating- if you want me to tell you more stories, you’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”

“Shishishishishi, okay.”

 

 

 

Training is a little odd today- instead of sparring like we usually do, Sanji asks if we can work on his footwork. Now, I know what he’s actually asking, so I ask Brook to play-

 

“-a [ Waltz ](https://youtu.be/7WW2I0S1e0M) please.”

“Certainly, Mab.”

 

And then I dance with Sanji. Bryony can’t resist, and joins Brook in playing- and here, they both shine. We move together- he leads, and I follow. For a moment, we dance together in a grassy field, only the steady beat of the music accompanying our union. And then I hear a scream I recognize- over there. Splashing? What is that, someone in trouble?

Sounds like Moda, not Moda- Keimi?!? Shit!

 

I push away from Sanji and _blink_ across the ocean to where the scream is coming from and it’s Keimi I know her how do I know her won’t figure it out if she gets eaten by a Sea King no time for fancy- **Stitching Style: Tack!** She’s in my arms and blubbering but also- starfish in a tam hat- shit Sea King, no, Sanji got it. She’s still screaming and blubbering, flup to the deck and carefully just- hold her. Hysteria slowly ebbs into terrified sobbing, which soothes down into something like a hug and then- I let her go when she pushes away.

 

“Mab-chin?”

“Nice to see you again, Keimi. Ah- remind me how we know each other?”

“Y-you were my babysitter a bunch of times, Mab-chin… Your memory is just as terrible as ever, hu?”

“Ah, yes. Um- what are you doing out here all by yourself, though?”

“...I’m looking for Moda-chin, actually.”

“Because...?”

“Because her due date is in about a week and she won’t pick a grotto and it’s really dangerous to just have a baby in the open ocean and-”

“Breathe.”

“-! I am looking for my cousin, Moda-chin. She’s very nearly due to have her baby, and her nesting instinct won’t let her settle into a grotto where it’s safe.”

“She's a communer of Sea Kings, I’m not sure-”

“The Calm Belt is too far for her to swim in her condition! More importantly, she can’t just have the guppy without help. I- I don’t have the communing gift as strong as Moda-chin, but-”

“Only a Royal would-”

“Right, but- but… according to the Sea Kings, she was here, she was- she was swimming, and then there was buzzing, and now she’s gone and- and I’m really worried.”

“Ah. So… what, she was taken by someone?”

“I- I think she was taken by slavers, actually. I mean- I mean, slavery is illegal! It’s super illegal, and, and has been for centuries, b-but... ”

“...”

“Oh dear. Please don’t do anything… please don’t start a war on Moda-chin’s account, she’d never-”

“Keimi. If the Lanfolk broke the terms of Fair Trade, I need to know.”

“...”

“ **Keimi.** ”

“...I can’t say for sure if they have. B-but, if they have, the only one who could say for sure is- is you, Mab-chin.”

 

I look at Keimi. I smile. She gulps.

 

“So, what’s in your backpack, Keimi?”

“Takoyaki- it was, um. It was a snack for Moda-chin, or a bribe for the smaller Sea Kings… Uncle Hachi’s been letting me work at his sports bar, and, and with Moda-chin all… expanding… she can’t really fit between the tables so… -Is that Lanfolk okay? The lemonhead one I mean, he’s losing a lot of blood really fast-”

 

I turn and look at my husband. Sanji’s eyes are locked on- Keimi. I sigh.

 

“SHE’S UNDERAGE, SANJI!”

“ **FUCK!** FUCK FUCK FUCK-”

“Um.”

“He’s my husband.”

“UM.”

“He’s just as pervy as I am. You seventeen yet?”

“Nope!”

“SHE’S NOT SEVENTEEN YET SANJI, REEL THE BLOOD BACK IN-”

“I’M TRYING BUT IT’S NOT STOPPING MAB-”

“CHOPPER, HELP SANJI BEFORE HE BLEEDS OUT-”

“Wha- FOR FUCK’S SAKE, SANJI. THIS IS A REALLY **_STUPID_   **WAY TO DIE-”

“So, anyway. Is that Pappug?”

“Hi Mab!”

“Hi, Pappug.”

 

 

Ah, I remember now. Moda is… I want to say twenty seven? She’s twenty seven now, I guess, making Keimi somewhere around fifteen. [ Keimi ](http://vignette3.wikia.nocookie.net/onepiece/images/9/93/Keimi_Anime_Pre_Timeskip_Infobox.png/revision/latest?cb=20140724111326) is a kissing gourami mermaid, a bit excitable and easily shocked, but generally good hearted. She’s also one of the fastest swimmers I know, excepting Moda herself, who is apparently just fast enough to outpace Keimi.

 

“Neh, Mab, is Keimi your friend?”

“Sort of- mostly I used to babysit her when my friend Moda, her cousin, couldn’t.”

“...Keimi needs a babysitter?”

“Ahhh. Sort of? On the one wing, her parents are super overprotective. On the next, she gets swallowed by Sea Kings at about the same rate as Sanji and I like each other. Per day.”

“Oh wow.”

“Mm. On the other wing, Moda is her favorite cousin, and the person who let her actually try things out and live her life- you know, like an older sister. On the last wing, we’re nearly to Sabaody- I’d put us there by tomorrow afternoon at the latest.”

“So- HEY NAMI, STOP KISSING ZORO AND C’MERE, MAB’S GONNA TALK ABOUT SABAODY-”

“Woo, here I am, speak, speak-”

“Right. Sabaody is the first Confluence we’re going to be able to enter semi-legally; it sits directly above Fishman Island, and directly below Exchange Laputa.”

“Wait- like, Laputa? The ancient floating city?”

“They’re merchant vessels, but yeah, that’s it. Anyway, we’re almost certainly not going to be able to get to ExLaputa, it’s- it’s very nearly impossible with our ship as is, and then we’d have to get back down, too. Anyway, Sabaody is a big… dock system? A crazy cross between an auction house and an amusement park. If the rules of Fair Trade are being upheld, it should be perfectly safe.”

“Ah huh.”

“Right, that’s what I said, Nami. So, the World Nobles- nothing noble about them- If Keimi’s right, Moda’s been absconded with and ‘sold’ into a life of slavery, or is going to be- I’m quite sure if she wasn’t pregnant, she’d have sunk whatever ship the possible slavers were on.”

“Oh yeah, Moda-chin doesn’t take anyone’s shit.”

“Right, but- she’s pregnant, so her decisions aren’t… good. So. I am concerned.”

“...If she was on Sabaody, where would she be?”

“She’d be in Grove One, Nami-chin. I mean- if, if slavery even exists, which it shouldn’t, and, and, um. Oh no.”

“What do the Bluebeaks call it, Keimi?”

“...the Public Employment Security Office.”

“ **Mmmhm.** Well. Geography lesson! Sabaody Archipelago is a grove of about seventy distinct Yarukiman Mangrove trees; all from one singular root, called… Eve, I think? Don’t remember- it was recorded on Ariel’s Folly, back in Water 7, so… Anyway. Our Eternal Pose- the thing Nami’s currently looking at- is labeled for Sabaody, but it actually points to Fishman Island. Sabaody doesn’t have a magnetic field of it’s own, it’s made of trees. It is directly over Fishman Island though, so. You’ll note that our Log Pose hasn’t actually changed- we need to set a course for about... the two together should be marking out a thirty five degree angle, then we follow Sirius to the House of Soap- Sabaody.”

“...Dammit, Mab.”

“Sorry Nami.”

“Oh- Nami-chin, you’re on a straight course for Sabaody already, I don’t-”

“IT’S THE PRINCIPLE OF THE MATTER, DAMMIT!”

“YIKES!”

 

“Here’s the plan, Captain- you ready?”

“Sure.”

“We’re going to split up- the Kids don’t have bounties yet, so they can go ahead and scout the location of the… **Grove One Public Employment Security Office…** and the rest of us keep our heads down and have as good a time as we can on Sabaody. And I check and see if Fair Trade is being upheld. Which should be… fun.”

“Oh dear. Mab-chin, don’t- don’t do anything crazy.”

“Hmhmhmhm. Now, really Keimi- would I do that? -Sabaody is also a good place to stop, resupply, make sure we’re ready for the New World, go on dates-”

“Oh _noooooooooo_.”

“Mab!”

“Turnabout is Fair, Nami. How was it with Zoro, by the way?”

“-So anyway, Luffy, we’re helping Keimi out?”

“Shishishishishi- ah, yeah. Missing pregnant lady, worried sister, and possible breaking of Fair Trade; sounds like one _hell_ of an adventure.”

 

I grin and there is _not a damn ounce_ of kindness in it.

Nami rubs her hands over her face. Keimi sighs deeply, and holds Pappug closer to herself. Sanji stumbles back with cotton balls shoved up his nose and a faintly burnt smell wafting off him. I direct him to Keimi’s other side. We lift her up together, and walk her to a large pool Franky has brought up from beneath the lawn- wait, where the hell-? Nevermind, I don’t need to know.

 

“You want to hear a funny story to take your mind off of things, Keimi?”

“...Sure, Mab-chin.”

 

Sanji brings me a very comfy lawnchair and a plate of scrambled eggs and toast for us to share. I catch him by the necktie and draw him in for a very thorough smooch. Was I a little upset when he was ogling Keimi? A little bit, sure. Do I trust my husband? Implicitly. Is he a little discombobulated? Outstandingly.

(How do I know my family is made of rednecks? During the same week, we lost a dog to a particularly aggressive kudzu that we eventually had to use a weedeater on- and the kudzu was in the kitchen, and guess who had to rake up all the shredded kudzu after the weedeater was through? That’s right. Me. It was me, y’all.)

 

* * *

 

 **FUCK. FUCK** FUCK SHIT FUCK FUCK SHIT SHIT FUCK. I didn’t mean to do that I hurt her I hurt her I hurt her I hurt my wife fuck fuck fuck- she shook it off but I saw her I felt her she- fuck!

Mermaids are- Mab is- aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh fuck shitfuck fuck fuck-

And Chopper had to burn the blood vessels, used a caustic of silver nitrate I'm going to be smelling that for ages, fuck, and I burned the eggs and fuck fuck fuck fuck-

I take fifteen minutes in the pantry by myself. Try to breathe through the tears and keep from dripping on my suit. I pull my handkerchief- that she made for me, fuck- and see- golden eyes in the darkness, Taffy, dropping down onto the floor-?

 

“Hug?”

“Wh-”

“H’you is sad. Hug.”

“Oh. S-sure.”

 

I hug her. She’s warm, soft on the surface- but just like Mab, it’s all brick and steel and mortar underneath. Taffeta smells like liquorice, mint, and apples- and she’s wearing something [ relatively relaxed ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/63/32/bf/6332bf6414186fc60db40a70e4669888.jpg) , at least for her. At some point, she got the top cartilage of her ears pierced- no, that’s a [ slip-on ](https://img0.etsystatic.com/056/0/6678158/il_fullxfull.744132006_3sym.jpg). Huh. Gold, too. Cute! FUCKING-

 

“Sanji, Mab-mama likes you.”

“Um.”

“Sanji, Mab-mama _likes_ **_you_ ** and she thought the mermaid was cute too.”

“Wait, where were you-”

“Rigging.”

“Oh.”

“H’you can’t read her wings yet, but h’I can, yis. She thought the mermaid was cute, but she thinks h’you is cutest. An’ if it really bothers you that much, take her on a date!”

“Wha-”

“It’s not like you actually courted her, and women like a little courting. She already make her choice, true, but- that does not mean you can’t win her over, yis?”

“Pffft. I- where would I even take her on a date, Taff?”

“H’I am glad you ask, Sanji. Look here-”

“Have you been carrying that newspaper advert around with you just in case a conversation like this happened, or-?”

“Of course. Now, see here, yis- is an amusement park, ‘Sabaody Park’ yis, and h’I have been reading the romancing novels with Luffy-captain, and in the one that made my heart-guts feel the most squishy-”

“Oh my god-”

“Shush. In the most squishy heart-gut feeling romancing novel, the lovers went to a park of the amusements- like this one, yis? They have the ferris-wheel, yis, made out of bubbles, and rolling coasters- though that would probably defeat the entire point of having a coaster-”

“Pffft-”

“And teacups, although h’I am not sure how cups for the drinking of teas are to be used in the amusement seeking, but is that not what adventuring is for? And yis, look-”

“A carousel?”

“No, next to the carousement wheel-”

“Pfffffft-”

“Shush! See? Is a love tunnel-”

“Pfffffthahahahaha-”

“And look, see, a Horror Show- though h’I am not sure what there is to show about horror, it is a creeping feeling gained when faced with the grotesque-”

“Taff.”

“Yis?”

“Thank you.”

“Yis! But- are we going or…?”

“I- yeah. Yeah, sure.”

"YISSSSSSSS!"

 

Taffy has a voice like… it’s all in her nose. Like there’s something stopping the sinuses in her nose from letting air through. I leave the pantry- but Taffy doesn’t exit with me. When I turn the light on to check for her, the room is empty except for the food and a faint smell of her soap and perfume. Even that fades away in the heat of the pantry-light and the open air from beyond the door.

 

She’s getting really good at those Ninja Spells of hers. Wait a second-

 

“Taffy, I can still see your _sageo_.”

“Shit!”

 

* * *

 

About our third week sailing from Floria, Canon and Kodak did their mating dance, which sent Bryony into a bit of a tizzy. A week after that- eggs. A week after that- baby Den Den Mushi.

This is important for a few reasons.

 

 

Keimi asked to use our phone; she wanted to let her Uncle Hachi know what was going on. She called him, talked to him- Nami seemed… upset? But- conflicted.

 

“Nami?”

“Oh- Mab?”

“...If you need to talk to someone who’s not involved at all, I’m here, okay?”

“-! That- huh. Yeah, thank you. Maybe.”

“Alright.”

“Uncle Hachi says it’s fine to use his dock for your Sunny-ship if y’all want. Free, and he’ll feed ya too.” says Keimi.

“SOLD!” says Nami.

“Mab-mama, Sanji says it’s okay to go to the park of amusements-”

“SABAODY PARK!” shouts Keimi-

“YIS! THE PLACE WITH THE CAROUSEMENT WHEEL-”

“-AND THE ROLLING COASTERS-”

“-AND THE RIDING LOGS-”

“-AND THE FERRIS WHEEL I’VE ALWAYS WANTED TO GO THERE BUt oh, oh, but-”

“YIS- what is problem, you got the sadness very quickly.”

“Um. I-in Sabaody- they still think that Sea-folk are just another kind of fish.”

“H’you is not, though?”

“I know that, and- and I think they do too, but… I- I’d like to go to the Park with you, Taffy, but-”

“What if you was not a mermaid?”

“Um-”

“Like, you didn’t **_look like_ ** a mermaid.”

“...I’d need a really extensive disguise, and I can’t actually, um. Walk.”

“...I saw an advertisement for a Bubbly-walking device, or maybe it was a… a bubble-chair?”

“...I mean, I guess that could work, but I don’t have any clothing that would cover my tail anywhere near enough, and- and bubblechairs are really expensive, I couldn’t-”

 

I got this.

 

“Hey Starbro, got a job for you and maybe Usopp.”

“Sup, Wingsis?”

“Taff, toss me the advert with the bubblechair on it?”

“Yis- here, catch!”

“Okay- we need one of these for Keimi. Taffy’s trying to set up a date at the amusement park, and I’m willing to help- but Keimi can’t walk, so...”

“Nice! Seem’s pretty straightforward...”

“Right?”

“Yeah, it’ll be done by tomorrow.”

“Cool. I need to take Keimi’s measurements...”

“Mab-chin?”

“I’m the crew’s seamstress, and if you’re going on a date with Taffy, you’re going to need an outfit that’ll let you avoid- sorry, they still think of Sea-folk as just more fish, right?”

“I- yeah.”

“So… avoiding detection, cute for a date, and not too restrictive… I know exactly what to make for you.”

 

I plop down in a seat at the dining room table, start drawing on a clean page in my sketchbook; crop-top that’s scaled and zips up the back, mermaid skirt because there’s only so many styles that will fit her tail without being restrictive and also look good on her- [ an outfit ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/ad/a6/9d/ada69df044f7b6457f97b70d0417aac2.jpg)for Keimi. Her broad grin lets me know quickly that I’ve made a good choice.

 

“Mm. I can make it any color- unless you like it as is?”

“I- I like the drawing as it is, Mab-chin.”

“Okay, cool. I’ll have it done by tomorrow.” Start bugs and shadows working immediately.

“Ah, thank you!”

“Mmm. While I’m here- any other requests? Nami, Bry? Taff?”

“Um- a new dress would be nice, Mab.”

“Yeah.”

“Um- could you make a white coat for me, yis?”

“Sure. So- Nami Bryony Keimi Me Taffy- actually give the guys their new shit this time-” Copy of original coat, adjust for muscle tone gained-

“Woo! New clothes wing-sis?”

“Oh yeah, star bro- everyone gets new clothes, I just have to remember to actually pass them out.”

“YOOOOW~! NEW CLOTHES NEW CLOTHES~”

“Hmhmhmhmhmhm.”

“If dresses are getting made, I’d like one as well, Mab.”

“Sure, Robin. So it’s Nami Bry Keimi Me Taff Robin-”

“Um- I don’t want a dress, but I would like a skirt if that’s okay? And a giant purse, too- enough for all my guns.”

“...Okay Mark. So- everybody’s getting new clothes. Okay. Any other requests?”

“A kiss and a date?”

“Thank you for asking, Sanji-”

 

And then I lean up and lay one on him. It’s more like four or five, but- priorities!

 

“And I’d love to go, where?”

“Amusement park?”

“Sure, sounds fun.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

 

And I smile at my husband. He smiles back. Keimi coos, while Pappug gags. Pappug is a starfish, so I won’t hold it against him. I’m not entirely sure how he learned to talk, as starfish are not native to Skua, but then again, there’s an outlier or two in every species.

 

 

 

I make Keimi’s dress; I make an overly long black mermaid skirt and a sleeveless cropped top scaled shirt embellished with shining, glittering… there’s a word for them, sparkly, not bedazzled, it’s- fuck. Those things. Round, stitch on, sparkling, come in every color. Silver and black. Keimi’s dress is actually two pieces, a shirt and skirt combo. It’s also the most complicated garment I make in the night.

Taffy’s suit-jacket is the second most complicated garment; [ a cute black and white number ](https://edanafashion.files.wordpress.com/2015/06/free-shipping-female-small-suit-jacket-ol-slim-women-s-suit-blazer-women-blazer-suits-for.jpg) cut for her to move in and enjoy. My dress is [ a two toned affair ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/56/3f/b3/563fb3db78ae2ac36a632dd0387f7625.jpg) , brown and covered in plumeria and palm fronds, button fronted; I wear stirrup tights and my flats underneath it. [ Brown and blue carpet bag ](https://img0.etsystatic.com/067/0/6392266/il_fullxfull.779786188_n7yf.jpg) is my carry around purse- and I make sure that I’ve packed all my weapons and everything I might need either in my locker, on a dark shelf in my studio, in a box or trunk in my studio, or in the bag itself. It’s lining is fawn colored, and that’s the portion I keep all my regular shit in- money (separate from my coin purse because that goes in my tit pocket (oh god I’m becoming my Granuna) and you never know what might happen), nail file (metal), hair ties, those sponges the women use for their flow (I use a silicone cup Chopper measured me for), condoms, extra coin purse, lipstick, deck of cards, small notebook, pen, calling cards, medicine case (I have seasonal allergies), buglace case (travel version), dry non-perishable snack (tiny fish and chopped almonds), good luck charm (a little honey bee, Sanji’s nickname for me is catchy and cute), one of our new baby den den mushi with a full rig and everything (Bry does good work), matches, a mirror, a sewing kit, a first aid kit, sunglasses, and a book. That’s all on the fawn colored side. There’s a sort of clasp hinge attached to black fabric- that’s for all my Shadowy work.

After that, the other dresses are much the same. Mark’s skirt is complicated because of the print, not the pattern- it’s a [ circle skirt with included petticoat and three-quarter sleeve cardigan ](http://sensibility.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/08/ChevronSkirt.png) , there’s few things simpler. The giant purse I make big enough for his gun belts, ammo bags, and guns, not _just_ his guns. There’s even room for a change of clothes, money, a water bottle, and a snack. [ It’s shaped like a fish and made out of leather. ](http://cdn0.lostateminor.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/02/This-bag-makes-it-look-like-youre-carrying-a-giant-goldfish7.jpg)

Nami’s dress is [ a keyhole halter ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/5a/18/9a/5a189a3c48cafcb7169fc876e610cf96.jpg) , orange and white print with a skirt full of hidden pockets and a petticoat sewn in. Orange clutch bag, bigger than it seems. Bryony’s dress is [ a simpler affair ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/37/89/19/378919bc2764c5d157a1bf7e73b2be73.jpg) by far- I don’t quite remember what it’s called, yes I do, ruche, ruching- ruching on the bodice and [ a scrappy fish shaped purse ](http://i.ebayimg.com/images/g/fI4AAOSwv-NWYvfD/s-l300.jpg) in addition to Scramble. I’ve got fish on the brain. Robin’s dress is [ purple and cling ](http://site.gojane.com/img/E/107206-e-purple-0.jpg) y, just like she likes it. As for the guys- nothing really stands out except for Franky’s shirt which is both [ loud and covered in pineapples ](https://35f0jq1fcotly82b3o727xi0-wpengine.netdna-ssl.com/wp-content/uploads/hawaiian-shirt-pineapples-yellow-276x243.jpg).

 

So here’s the thing- I’ve never actually been on a date before. This should be fun!

 

* * *

 

Here’s a history lesson.

Fair Trade was predicated on the actions of a man named [ Django ](https://youtu.be/IAooXLAPoBQ).

Fair Trade is the agreement by which Skua and the rest of the Blues interact; because the World Nobles and World Government couldn't actually make the Sky's People bow- but they could make us pay.

 

The story’s pretty simple- a pair of slaves fall in love, one slave is sold away, the other- remains behind. Slave man is rescued, goes back for his wife. There’s some other things- details- about the story to give it it’s… flavor, of course, but the most important detail is that because of what Django did- because of how many people he killed- they enacted a trade agreement. So long as that agreement was upheld, the Nobility would be free to do- not quite as they liked, they couldn’t take slaves- but up to a point. And in return, Django, and his kin, would not take matters into their own hands again.

Could not take matters into their own hands again.

Django was a Fairy, one of Ariel’s sons. He’s why saffron became a world commodity. And if Keimi’s intel is good, Fair Trade is broken to pieces. Which means- well. I said to use the Royal Reserve for the people’s distribution. What that actually means in practice…? Hmhmhmhmhmhm.

Let's just say that... no matter how pretty, a cage is still a cage, and a yoke is still a yoke. Our Mother did not make us to be slaves.

 

(They weren’t dumb enough to leave out a three-strikes policy, more’s the pity- so I have to see it with my own eyes, I have to see a noble breaking Fair Trade to call it; Wiper-by-Nami and Keimi count for two. Here’s hoping for lucky sevens across the row, hey?)

 

* * *

 

We dock at Takoyaki 8’s dock in Grove Fifty Six (56) the next day about mid morning- the bug density is so high, I can get a very good sense of fine details but have no understanding of things like scale. A brief stop at Takoyaki 8 proper to inform Keimi’s uncle about the plan for the day- dates, disguises, and everything else, and he gives his approval so long as he can chaperone Taffy and Keimi. I have no objections to this, nor does Taffy. Keimi does, but-

 

“Keimi, you get into more trouble than Taffy can handle by herself just yet. Your Uncle goes with.”

“Aw, but Mab-chin-”

“Nope.”

“Uuuuuugh, fine.”

“Mmmhm.”

 

Bryony passes out baby Den Den Mushi with new experimental rigs on their shells to every person in our crew-

 

“If we get scattered onto different islands, they should make it possible to stay in contact. Please don’t lose them, though, I worked really hard on them and they’re all specialized for each of you, okay?”

 

There was a chorus of agreement. Nami passed out money with a bit of a visible internal struggle, but eventually paired up with Zoro. Robin paired off with- Franky? Okay- and Luffy, Mark, and Usopp all ran off together as soon as Nami let go of the money- or they would have if Chopper hadn’t-

Chopper has been experimenting with how he presents himself.

When he walked around in Brain Point before- how to explain… a lot of how a person uses their Devil Fruit (Devil Fate) is conceptual, it’s- it’s how the user of the Fate understands the concept put forth by the Fruit. What is- what _is_ a Baku?

What _is_ Shadow?

What _is_ Fire?

What does it mean to Bloom?

What does it mean to be Resurrected?

What is Ice?

What is Rubber?

What is Human?

 

The harder you can twist this idea, the more you can do with your Fate.

 

 

 

Chopper’s been- I want to say experimenting, with his concept of self. This is also intimately connected to his “shadow-self”- the part of himself he doesn’t want to acknowledge consciously.

So, of course, I had to talk to him about what he was doing. We were able to talk about this without him becoming defensive, after a while, and he figured out that his Brain Point and his Heavy Point are two sides of the same thing- that being a more conscious melding of his reindeer and human attributes.

Since the Dream on Floria, he’s been- examining himself?

Reflecting on who he is, what he really wants. After a long series of conversations that didn’t _alter_ his shadow, exactly- more like made him aware of it- he has a completely new pair of transformations he can do without using a Rum Ball (Rumble Ball?). When he eventually combined his Brain and his Heavy Points, he became a sort of… [ pseudo-Mink ](http://pre06.deviantart.net/dc42/th/pre/i/2011/124/4/3/oh_deer__boy__by_nyoonyoo-d3fkie4.jpg) . This also created the opposition- not the equal melding of man and beast with the full understanding of what both could mean, just as he was in the Dream but Waking- but the opposition of the melded form is the separated form, a man-that-is-beast, [ a centaur ](http://38.media.tumblr.com/b190d675ae62226f7e825299ad905175/tumblr_n7w6qnpEJp1tcsm5lo1_1280.png) with a deer for a body instead of the horse. Luffy was disappointed that he wasn’t allowed to ride Chopper. Chopper actually kicked Luffy in the head a bunch when he tried it anyway.

 

All this to say, Chopper was in his psuedo-Mink form, and paired off with Bryony. On the one wing, I want to tease them- on the other wing, I’ve never had sex in a ferris-wheel before. On the next wing, Bryony and Chopper are going on a date in a bar- on the last wing, Captain and Hachi were talking to each other, and now we’re going somewhere…? As a group. Okay.

 

(Before we left the ship for Sabaody, I sent off a few letters; I read the newspaper. I am **_concerned_ **. And I can keep my promise of he dies, but goddammit that’s a lot more work than I really want to do- so I guess I’m planning a jailbreak? Hm. So that’s a bank, and a factory- all I need now is the jail, and the execution docket counts. Woo, fulfilling childhood promises left, right, and center here.)

 

So we’ve gone from Grove 56 to Grove 13- and a place… [ a bar? ](http://vignette2.wikia.nocookie.net/onepiece/images/1/19/Shakky's_Rip-off_Bar_Infobox.png/revision/latest?cb=20151025185238) So- while Captain talks with [ the bartender ](http://orig08.deviantart.net/7a47/f/2008/119/7/c/op498_shakky_colours_by_alinka.jpg) I dig out my reading material- it’s the collated version of all the bounty posters collected over my time with the Straw Hats, with my annotations on the one’s I have some insight on. When I overhear the shift in conversation between Captain and the bartender, I dig out his reading glasses- in their [ nice red case ](http://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0811/5701/products/AS126_Paisley_Pink_eyeglass_case.jpg?v=1445202731) which I made and Usopp painted. Captain learns best with a visual representation.

 

“Pardon the interruption Captain- you’ll want these, based on your conversation. You need us here for anything, or…?”

“Nah. Meet back here before dinner, yeah?”

“Will do.”

 

I mosey back over to the rest of the crew.

 

“Alright everyone- if you’re going on a date, now’s the time to head out. If you want to stick around and listen in on Captain’s conversation, just hang out, okay? We’re to meet back here for dinner- unless of course circumstances dictate otherwise. Holla.”

 

And then I take my husband’s arm and with a snickering glance at Nami and- oh my goodness, Zoro is **_blushing-_ ** exit for the Amusement Park. Yaaaaaaaaaas. Priorities, set!

 

* * *

 

As far as I can, fucking, fuck- remember, that’s the word, far’s’I can remember, the sickest I ever was is also when Miss Makino learned I couldn’t read, and I couldn’t learn to read, and it was terrible. Nothing sounded right, all bubbled and gummed and too loud or too soft like I had water in m’ears from the shower- felt like my head would roll off my shoulders, and when I had enough strength to do anything, it was barely enough to get to the crapper and back.

Still, I’m real grateful to Mab for making me these nifty glasses- they make everything except the printed pages look real funny, so I like wearing them- or I would, I guess, if they didn’t make meat look weird. They make it so the words hold still, so the paper ain’t like looking direct at the sun and I can read now, and- soon as I was good enough at it, I called Miss Makino up (Landline, ten-digits, starts with 5) and told her all about what I could do now, all about how I could read now, and she was so proud and happy and she was crying and I was crying and it was wonderful because I could read, I can read-

 

“Just a sec, lemme put these on-”

“Sure, Straw Hat.”

 

I put my glasses on. Mab was right- and she usually is. My ass sure did chafe a lot when I didn’t wear any kind of underoos at all; and I do like having the option for reading or not.

 

“So- we were talking about everyone who’s gotten more’n one hundred million beri as a bounty, right? Called the- what, the Worst Generation?”

“We were. In order of price as set by the Marines- Marshall D. Teach, “Blackbeard-”

“Nah, I don’t care about him. Next-”

“Hahaha, alright. There’s you, wanted for 500,000,000 beli, “Straw Hat-”

“I know who I am, Miss Shakky.”

“Sorry, but there’s an order to these things- Next up, Trafalgar Law.”

“This guy?”

“Mm. Wanted for as much as you are, ”The Surgeon of Death”, has the Ope Ope Fruit- he’s a shady guy with shady motives.”

“Hmm. Mab wrote here he might be related to a Trafalgar Lami-?”

“Oh, now _that’s_ interesting. But we aren’t there yet- so. Eustass ’Captain’ Kidd, wanted for 470,000,000, magnetic powers from a fruit that isn’t well recorded- nasty brute.”

“Hm.”

“Mab Tailor- your lovely seamstress- wanted for 420,000,000, “The Queen of Maggots”; mad as a hatter, bad to have as an enemy, and dangerous to know and be known to.”

“Eh, probably.”

“Hahahahaha. Scratchmen Apoo, 350,000,000, “Roaring Tide”, basically a one-man-band thanks to his Devil Fruit. Good at getting out of tight spots in the most bizarre of ways.”

“Eh. Brook’s better.”

“Maybe so. -Roronoa Zoro, your swordsman; 320,000,000, “Pirate Hunter”, known for his terrible sense of direction?”

“...Zoro’s not allowed to steer the ship or go ashore by himself anymore.”

“Hahahahahahahahahaha. H-hm. Capone Bege, 300,000,000, “Gang”; there are whispers of a connection to Big Mom. Watch out for him- he plays like he’s a white collar operator, but I don’t trust it. No one even hesitantly connected to Big Mom is any kind of good news.”

“White collar-? Oh, like when you rob a bank with words instead of guns.”

“-That’s actually very accurate. Basil Hawkins, “Magician”, has magic, a sword, a bounty of 249,000,000 beli, and a weird following- almost his own cult of personality.”

“Hmm.”

“Diez Drake-”

“-Says here his name’s Eks-”

“-No, it’s one of those New World pronunciations-”

“- _Ahhh_ -”

“Diez Drake, 222,000,000, “Red Flag”; used to be a Marine Rear Admiral.”

“Ugh.”

“Mmhm.”

“Oh hey, Trafalgar Lami-”

“Right, **her.** Interesting that she’s possibly connected to Trafalgar Law- looking at them next to each other, I can really see the resemblence.”

“It’s the eyes- they have the same eyes, and the same look in ‘em.”

“Quite right; Trafalgar Lami, wanted at 210,000,000; “Flying Tigress”, she appeared out of nowhere, and she’s been on an anti-slavery tear ever since. Nice girl, but- intense. I've met her.”

“...You know, Mab’s a Fairy. And she’s Fae enough to know when something is and isn’t Fair- doesn’t need to think it over, she **_knows.”_ **

“Oh. Oh dear. Oh my goodness- she’s gonna wreck the whole place, isn’t she?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. She said she had to see it herself for it to count, whatever that means.”

“Hmhm! Well, after the Tigress, the Killer- and that’s the only name given; 200,000,000; “Massacre Soldier”; member of the Kid Pirates, and apparently more easy going than their Captain, if just as nasty and brutish.”

“Hmhm.”

“Perona Clyde, 170,000,000; “Ghost Face”; in an alliance with Trafalgar Lami. What ships the Tigress misses, Ghost Face does not; she’s also known for sinking ships thought to be unsinkable.”

“Hm. I've met her- very proud person.”

"Interesting. Well- next, Jewelry Bonney, 140,000,000; “Glutton”; also in an alliance with Trafalgar Lami; seems to be a new development. Someone has to do something with all those freed slaves, though- those that don’t end up joining with the Tigress or the Ghost Queen either stick with the Glutton, or get time-changed just enough to escape capture and sent off into the various areas of the world. All three women are genuinely beloved by the downtrodden locals here in Sabaody, as well as various others in this part of the world- they’re even starting to get attention from Whitebeard.”

“They won’t join him.”

“No?”

“Nah, no way. They have a Captain already.”

“Interesting. You willing to say who that Captain is?”

“Can’t. Secret.”

“Hm. Well. Last two on the list aren’t as interesting as the ones who came before- There’s Moda, 109,000,000; “Streaker”; her original crime was indecent exposure, but considering every ship that tries to catch her or her crew gets sunk by angry Sea Kings… Her crew is also noted for being entirely Seafolk; it’s not that they won’t accept other tribes, they will, it’s that- well, she’s the only pirate I’ve ever heard of who’s a mermaid not based out of Fishman Island, and doesn’t appear to have any kind of ship.”

“Wait, what?”

“That’s my thoughts exactly- no one’s seen her in a while, though. Finally, Urouge; 108,000,000, “Mad Monk”; out of all the supernova rookies, he’s the weakest. Hilariously, he's also wanted for indecent exposure, along with a list of increasingly illegal Sex Acts.”

“...There are illegal sex acts?"

"It's still illegal in some places for men to have sex with men, yes."

"Huh. Interesting. So- all of ‘em are on Sabaody?”

“All of them except Blackbeard- and Moda. _No one_ knows where she is, or where her crew is, until _after_ they attack. It's the damndest thing...”

“Hmm.”

 

I let the information settle in- I’ll remember it if I need to, otherwise… Nah.

I take a look at my crewmates in the bar’s mirror. Brook appears to be playing incidental music, which Bryony is recording, before playing it back… different. Chopper is bouncing along, providing a rattling beat. Robin and Franky are at a different booth, reading books and occasionally smiling at each other. Weird. Maybe a little romantic…? -I should have asked Mab for that book she rewrote before she left, shit!

 

* * *

 

Oh no. Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no- Where’s Keimi? I- I literally just went to take a piss, where the hell- ah! Hachi-octopus Uncle-man!

 

“Hachi! What- what y’is this, why are you-” says I.

“They took her. That- fucking Duval, they took her and…” says Hachi.

“Took her where? Mr. Hachi, where they take her?” says I.

“The- the auction house- Grove 1.” says Hachi.

“Oh-okay. I’m going to stay here, because Keimi will be the sadness if you die from bloodloss, yis. I’m going to call Chopper right now-” says I. I keep one hand pressed to Hachi’s wound, and take out the snail, press the quick-dial button for Chopper, set it on my shoulder and put my hand back. My snail is smeared in a man’s blood and I’ve got both hands pressed to his chest and side-

“Mr. Hachi, please stay awake, I only know enough to know you shouldn’t be losing that much blood-” says I.

“Nnngh- I’ll, I’ll try.” says Hachi.

“I- I can see the Ferris Wheel, a-and over to my left is, is a store-” says I.

“-it’s a hat store-” says Hachi.

“-and the awning is, is blue with a green diamond pattern. I’m in an alley, a-and in front of me is a building made out of red brick and it’s two stories tall. D-do you know what kind of weapon they got you with, Hachi?” says I.

“Gnngh- spear gun, Taffy. Pulled the bolt out like an idiot-” says Hachi.

“-shit, we’re almost there, hold on-” barks Chopper.

“-and they took Keimi, my poor niece, they took her-” says Hachi.

“-i-it’ll be okay, Hachi, it’ll be alright-” says I.

“-it’s not alright, they ruined your date, and she was **_so happy-”_ ** says Hachi.

“TAFFY! Good, good, you’re doing good- I’m going to have you put on some gloves and assist me, got it?” says Chopper, sliding to a stop and rolling out of his deer-shape into his deer-man shape.

“Yis!” says I. What else can I say?

 

I let Chopper direct me, guide me- he says that if I wasn’t there, Hatchan would have bled out, died. Doesn’t make me feel much better. Keimi’s missing; Captain’s mad; I’m mad.

Everyone goes back to the bar for a plan. I missed the opportunity- Bryony was with Chopper. And Mark- Mark!

 

“Mark, you know where the Human- stupid long name, the Human Auction House is?” says I.

“Well- yeah, I found it when I was out with Usopp, but-” says Mark.

“Slavers take Keimi. I go and get her out.” says I.

“Problem one- every slave is collared with explosive collars; if you don’t have the key, they prime to explode.” says Mark.

“So I pick the lock and toss it, next.” says I.

“Problem two- the auction house has extensive security measures; death traps, surveillance, armed guards-” says Mark.

“So I sneaky sneak in and out, next.” says I.

“Problem three- I think Usopp can explain it best…?” says Mark.

“They’re having a two for one sale- someone named Moda, the exotic “octomaid”, like-” says Usopp.

“Shit.” says Mab. “That’s Keimi’s cousin. She’s an octopus type mermaid-”

“So. I need to get in, get them free, and get them out- yis?” says I.

“...Alright, well. Captain, you wanna do a heist?” says Mab.

“Wait wait wait, can’t we just buy them-?” says Nami.

“WE ARE NOT THROWING GOOD MONEY AFTER BAD, NAMI; A BARGAIN WITH THE DEVIL HAS NO END.” says Mab. Is not loud- but is sharp. Those are… um. Sayings, those are- those things. But Mab means them, her voice has _weight_ when she says them. So they must not be just sayings.

“...” hums Nami.

“-Besides, why buy what you can steal?” says Mab.

“...True. Alright, what’s the plan?” says Nami.

“So. What can you tell me about the Human Auction House, Mark?” says Mab.

“It’s obviously a theater, Mab, and all their money went to securing the slaves, not altering the premises.” says Mark.

“Okay- here’s what we’ll do. Captain?” says Mab.

“Yeah?” says Captain.

“You take Zoro, Nami, Usopp, Brook, Chopper, Franky, and Sanji, and grab seats at the auction; if needs must, do what you do. The rest of us will devise a plan for stealing back our mermaid friends. Yes?” says Mab.

“Sounds good, Mab.” says Captain.

 

Captain, Zoro, Nami, Usopp, Sanji, Chopper, Franky, and Brook all leave at the same time. The rest of us- Mab, Robin, Mark, Bryony, and Me- decide on a plan. Plan goes like this: Robin get Me and Bryony into position. Mark and Mab causes distraction. Bryony moves into position; I cut through the glass carrying thing with sword, Bryony carries Keimi and Moda can run for herself. We all sneak out one way while Mab and Mark keep attention on them. And then- presto!

 

What could go wrong?


	21. Birth Rites

 As I **Shadow Stitch: Slipknot** us towards a soft landing- myself, Moda, and Lami- I consider how things came to this point.

  _How in God’s name did it come to_ **_this?_**

 

Not quite… four? Maybe five hours ago, time’s already going screwy on me; definitely not seven, I’d _know_ if it was seven…

Hm.

So as near as I can figure, the very first thing that went wrong was that none of us actually knew how long it would take for the Auctioneers to get around to actually trying to auction off Moda and Keimi. It would not be the last thing that went wrong- not even the most important thing- but it did mean that when Robin snuck Taffy in and took her seat with the rest of the crew, Taffy then had to find a spot -that would not be noticed- to hole up in for about four hours.

Taffeta has habits- a pattern, everyone does- and her pattern is to hide either very high, or very low. She doesn’t like being on the same level as most everything else, heritage of her cloud fox and giant centipede natures. So she chose to hide in the gods, as below stage- while it’s possible to hide below a stage, it’s not a good idea during a show. I, personally, would have hidden in one of the wings- which is actually what ended up happening.

 

It is important to note that at this point in time, I still thought we’d get away with it.

 

The second big thing that went wrong is that there is a specific order to any reputable auction- which this one purported to be.

It goes as follows- the ordinary, and not so ordinary items on the list of sale are sold as they would be normally; then, an artistic showing of some kind, to give the auction goers a bit of time to get more money, get their allotments and leave, or go get a snack or take a piss even. Then, the final item sold would be the most impressive- and one of the few things that went absolutely right was my supposition that the double-sale of an unsplit mermaid and an octopus-type mermaid would be the biggest and best that the auction would have to offer- not that people can be sold. Mark and myself- appropriated, let’s call it- the spot of entertainment; I’d had a talk with Mark, and given him my blessing and the flute. He had planned to use the flute as my accompaniment during- our distraction; unfortunately, what actually ended up happening was that Bryony had to hide out with us in our… So, our duo became a trio. Which meant, of course, that Bryony couldn’t pull the glass for Taffy.

 

This should have been my second sign. Anything requiring a trio of people is dire indeed, and unless it’s childbirthing, going to go horribly wrong- three people is just about right in matters of childbirthing. This was not childbirthing.

 

So. Taffy was in the Gods; but, because Disco- the proprietor of the auction- wanted to be theatrical, the Gods was in almost constant flux. Metal, Disco’s heavy, was lurking somewhere backstage, keeping an eye on Moda and Keimi- which meant that the only opportunity for Taffy to get to the two mermaids would be after they were put on the stage for sale. This also meant that Taffy had to constantly move around the gods using her upper body strength and all the sneaking skills Sanji, Robin, and myself had been able to teach her.

 

I realized things were going to go wrong when Taffy wasn’t able to flood the stage on time.

 

I’d given her a heavy spec set of glass-cutters, and an Eisen-multitool to help remove the explosive collars. During the rush of getting the snowglobe-like structure with the two mermaids in it on stage, Bryony, Mark, and myself moved into our wing, and began performing. There’s no way either Mark or Bryony were ready to perform- but, well. Even though I hate it, there’s lots of things I’ll do for my friends I won’t do for other people.

 

Mark played me in. Bryony backed him up. [ And I danced. ](https://youtu.be/VgTJVoOn8CQ)

 

It was during my dance- there was supposed to be a cue that would have flooded the stage with water, which would have been Taffy freeing the mermaids. I had to flood the stage with water from the local cisterns when Taffy didn’t make her cue- thank God for Devil Fate Bullshit- which meant immediately that our plan had gone straight to hell. Out in the crowd- people I knew.

 

Trafalgar Lami.

Perona Clyde.

My Crewmates.

My Husband.

Behind me- Mark, Bryony, Taffy, Keimi, and Moda.

 

Incidentally, Sanji couldn’t really keep his eyes off of me during the whole dance routine, which was very flattering. And I know it was him, even though I couldn’t actually see anyone, as my glasses did not suit the costume and the day I miss my cue is the day I die- and then it was over, and we exited stage right; which is right about when a sound very similar to a toilet flushing echoed over the stage, followed by a torrent of water. Taffy slid offstage with Keimi on her stomach, just fast enough that only the people in the balcony **_maybe_ ** _,_ might have seen her; I just barely saw them do a faceplant directly in… Jewelry Bonney? I think? Directly in someone with pink hair’s stomach- or possibly crotch, I couldn’t see for sure.

And then I saw Taffy wrap Keimi in something and run out with her- which is actually the only thing that really went to plan in this whole mess.

 

 

Now, for my performance, I was wearing a very lovely and extensive wig, which combined with my costume, turned me into a [ traditional Skuan Dancer](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/25/d9/8d/25d98dccba52eddab8dcc6a3b0232662.jpg).

My costume was actually a loaner from the days when the theatre this house of Sin was, was actually running _shows;_   built in the old Alabastan style, and Alabastan construction is built to **_last._ **

The brassiere and the belt were of heavily stiffened heavyweight buckram covered in high visibility, high contrast silk fabric- now pale brown, just a half shade off from my own skin, now gold, like gaudy treasure- which itself was covered in- SEQUINS, the word I was looking for was sequins, beads, real silvered gemstones, fringed appliques, and beaded fringe. The skirt and shawl-style veil were of the finest woven patterned silk.

Being in the Alabastan style, that costume could stand up under pressure, perspiration, and very hard use; indeed, after everything it probably went through before and definitely after I ever got my grubby hands on it, the damn thing could stand up by itself. Curiously, in terms of construction it was a totally Alabastan affair- but when examined closely, it soon became clear that while on-stage the gaudy Alabastan decorations would take precedence, with all their earthy foibles, off-stage, the Birkan would out. All that woven silk is in the traditional Birkan style, after all- intricate, yet subtle.

Birkan dance costumes are ephemeral works of art; airy and light and very breakable. Magnificent, intricate, and basically the costume version of a lapdance with a bit of a sneeze in between because you’re getting it at home.

Nice, but a lot of trouble to go through for something you’re not really dedicated to doing right because Priorities. (Sanji likes lapdances and I like dancing. Married life is fun!)

 

(I would later realize that the reason every person with a penis had to cross their legs after I finished dancing was because they were all sexually aroused; I understood the people squeezing their legs together quite well.

Because I forgot to mention- formalized striptease started in Skua. Basically, what I did on that stage was a full striptease- without, and this is important, **without** **_ever_** showing more than a hint of skin. I was, at no point, more than **suggestive**.

_But the things I suggested!_

I mean, the only reason Sanji didn’t exsanguinate himself was because he’s had several months of exposure to me at my most enticing, and so has a partial immunity. The splatters of blood down very nearly every front in that theatre was evidence of the effectiveness of my dance- even those that weren’t attracted to me couldn’t look away. I can guarantee that no one saw anything except what I wanted them to.

Not even the camera-snails- they were watching me, and bleeding themselves dry, too.

No one escapes the Royal Gaze.)

 

 

Somehow- and I don’t want to know how- the costume was filed away in the costume vault in such a way as to… more than suggest, inform is still too polite- it was Granuna’s, because at some point Granuna danced cabaret because _of course she did,_ and in keeping with the creeping horror of becoming our own elderly family members, it fit me perfectly- well, no, I had to adjust the bra straps a little, I am nowhere near as well endowed; I didn’t need quite that much stabilization. Interestingly enough, based on how Sanji’s shadow reacted to me as I danced in my costume- wig, adornments, brassiere, belt, and skirt- well, it made my split second decision to steal the costume by walking out with it seem like a good idea.

It always takes me a while to come back down off a dancing high, so maybe that was it?

Anyway, Heavy Metal decided it was not, in fact, a good idea; and so, he dragged me back on stage by the hair. My hair was long enough to braid at that point, and the wig had been sewn into the braids, as parts of my dance routine were very- vigorous.

So, _it fucking_ **_hurt_ ** **.**

The shawl half sticking out of my carpet bag, trailing behind me like a wet blanket, was generally the only indication I could think of that would have betrayed my intentions. I was able to wave off Mark and Bryony and the audience, which is why everything else. Hm. Happened.

Getting thrown across and immediately grabbed by a panicking and mildly confused Moda and then covered in stinking pink lamp oil? Also happened.

And then Metal held up a lighter and Disco started shouting and that’s right about when things went to shit.

 

* * *

 

I’m not very calm, as people go. When my sister-self died, she took a lot of my patience too.

I’m not super-strong, or shy, or wise, or holding onto humanity by the clawtips.

I’m grumpy, and quiet, and… and I don’t… I think I might need some time away from everyone, actually, but I don’t know how to ask for it. Looking at my crewmates… it sometimes fills me with such a rage, I can barely… but they didn’t know, I couldn’t tell them and they didn’t know.

I just-

I don’t believe in letting myself get hurt to please others anymore; and I’m starting to realize that I really don’t appreciate other people hurting my friends.

For example.

I really didn’t appreciate it when Heavy Metal’s goonsquad tried to take Bryony’s gear- as a so-called “seizure of accessory to criminal acts” like, like, you ain’t even in the Marines and you wanna act like you’re being lawful? In this den of sin and injustice? Bitch, please.

So, when I started punching people; er, gun-whipping people? Pistol whipping? It wasn’t long before Bryony was also punching and kicking people, and Bryony hits like a category five storm at sea; no quarter, no escape.

So the first guy goes ass over teakettle up the stairs, neatly clotheslining some goon about to do _something_ with a remote of some kind, and then there was a thunderous crash as Heavy Metal himself came crashing out through the lobby wall. Bryony at this point was knocking one goon out with another goon, and making steady, bloody inroads on yet a third- when there was the faint screeching of a snail and I was taken by the urge to howl with rage because- because- because-

And then I shot the front of the theater out with my Luga’buss. Heavy Metal was going to hurt Bryony, I had to do _something_. The water turned very- red and chunky- in the moment it was still visible before it tore through the front of the theater like paper.

So, uh.

Vomiting really isn’t fun.

But after you get it out of you? Feels way better.

Let’s go, shitheads.

 

* * *

 

So we were [ about to get set on fire](https://youtu.be/0EQbynwxgDM). Moda’s clinging to my back; Heavy Metal made some remark but I couldn’t hear it through the roaring in my ears and then there was so much pink oil that smells like fake vanilla and it’s terrible; and then as Heavy Metal smirks and lets the lighter drop, [ Lami](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/9d/60/42/9d6042b20d9bc90f7193ccab92305c0e.png) intervenes.

She caught the lighter, threw her [ jacket](http://i.ebayimg.com/images/g/4ikAAOSwRMRYTsAo/s-l300.jpg) to the side, and punched Heavy Metal through the lobby wall.

 

(Her flag is a [ Moon?](http://vignette3.wikia.nocookie.net/oproleplaying/images/2/2e/Moonpirate.png/revision/latest?cb=20150919194733) Making her, what, the captain of the Moon Pirates? [ _Oh_](http://onepiece.wikia.com/wiki/Sun_Pirates). Oh she hasn’t changed _at all_.)

 

Let me explain- no, not enough time. Let me sum it up.

Trafalgar Lami is quite possibly the best OB/GYN in the World, and a very good pediatrician on top of that; her big, nasty looking fists are actually wrapped expertly (and her actual hands are tiny), and her resting face is more than half scowl. She’s got this strange power to collapse to nearly a quarter of her size and look a child right in the eye and connect to them- some children are still scared by her, but mostly they like her.

It’s the weirdest thing too, because as far as I know she doesn’t want to give birth to any children- and before her thesis, she didn’t want her genetics being used in the creation of any children either.

Trafalgar Lami would never allow harm to come to a pregnant woman, or a child; and that goes double for someone in her care as a Doctor. The scars across her arms, chest, and face? **_I_ ** gave those to her- I was half out of my mind with pain and grief, it’s amazing I didn’t do worse. I really am quite kind and gentle- I do believe I missed on purpose, and then, of course, the sedatives…

Really, it’s amazing what you can get done when you plan ahead.

 

Lami has orange brown hair, warm-toned brown skin with rippling off-white markings over her entire body, I’ve seen her naked- _oh, how I have seen her-_ and there are portions of her body where instead of white-ish markings, there are rippling burn scars. She hit her growth spurts explosively, and all those marks on her body- basically they tore, I guess, and she became very… stripey.

She has hot brown eyes, a snubbed sort of nose, cheekbones you could cut a throat with, and a voice like being licked by a cat that really cares about you. Abrasive, yet- kind.

If my hunch is right- because I remember our drunken conversations at three in the morning, back in medical prep- she’s basically a dead ringer for her brother, [ Trafalgar Law](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/3d/16/00/3d16006811257013c9670a8453d0329f.jpg). (If I was a bit crazier, I'd climb that man-mountain; I might die, but Hell's bells the view is spectacular. Sanji's lovely but good God, you don't forget your first crush, do you?) Except, you know, female, orange hair in a bun, hotter color in the eyes and the twin dots of her Doctoral focus on her face. Same sideburns, though- hers are actually longer. She's a little shorter, maybe?

Oh yes- and, if the two Trafalgars are indeed siblings, then the both of them have gazes like big warm baskets of broken glass. A hotel-room on fire, broken glass ground into the carpet- her eyes by turns cut and burn with an inner rage so potent…

Well.

There’s a reason we broke up.

 

 

As far as I know Lami’s personality though... I get there first, sure. That’s because I have an almost pathological hatred of wasting time. Lami is more of the opinion that if you’re there, there’s no sense in waiting around for people who might never get there, ever. So- I’m the person who’s ordering the drinks, while Lami’s the person who starts the bar fight.

If I’m buying drinks, and Lami’s starting the fight- Perona is the one who jumps in next. So it was that Perona started thrashing squads of goons with her Hollow Bomba Rumba; blood and shit doesn’t spray because they’re not that kind of bomb at the moment. Instead, we get vomit. Just- spume and vomit everywhere. Oh my _God,_ it’s just like that barfight when we were-!

 

“It’s just like that barfight when we were Froshies, ey, Mab?”

“I was thinking the very same, Moda. You wanna get off the stage?”

“Hell yeah. Ooow.”

“Cramp, or contraction?”

“Uh- nnnot sure? S’been getting worse, but… I mean it’s about the right time, too, so- oh jeez.”

“Ah. LAMI- MODA’S HAVING CONTRACTIONS-”

“SHIT I’M COMING OVER-”

 

Which is how Lami and I got our arms hooked under Moda’s and we all started making our way out of the goddamn theater- which was, at this point, vaguely falling apart and possibly on fire? There was definitely more than a little fire on the stage at that point, and we were all covered in puke which neatly cleaned off the lamp oil and Mark shot the roof out which cleaned off the puke with nice fresh seawater- so I had my bag over one shoulder, Moda over the other, and my hand braced against Lami’s rippling shoulder. Basically an ambulatory stack of leather-supple granite slabs, is Lami.

Duck the rolling whip of jewel weed, so that’s Jewelry Bonney-

 

“Botanist?”

“Wha- oh, Bonney. Yeah.”

“Cool.”

 

And then the World Noble- nothing noble, waste of space- breaks Fair Trade by calling Moda his property.

The cue hasn’t come quite yet- but the howl of outrage this declaration brings is echoed by at least five people.

 

Thank goodness Captain punched the World Noble out, I would have killed him; and I was busy, besides.

 

* * *

 

This is bad. I had to do so much jumping and leaping, and I barely had enough time to cut through the glass and pick the explodey collars off the two mermaids. And there was this old dude who kept trying to break my concentration?

 

“Back off, Old Man- I don’t have time for you.” said I.

 

Anyway, Miss Moda-octopus told me to take Keimi out of there with her eyes, so I grabbed her and pulled the glass and slid across the stage directly into the Vearthy Food Lady who has a very nice smelling skirt and her crew of skunk-weed smelling people- [ Gilded Lilys](https://chairish-prod.global.ssl.fastly.net/image/product/sized/21624dd9-75cf-473b-827a-dc56410945ec?aspect=fit&width=640&height=640)? very quickly got me and Keimi out of the theater and out of the Grove and- and I should go make sure my crewmates are okay, but first I will take Keimi back to-

 

“I’m taking you to your Uncle, yis-” says I.

“Wha- what about your crew, won’t they-” says Keimi.

“They can handle themselves. I’m going to get you to- your uncle was very badly hurt, and-” says I.

“Who is that?” says Keimi.

 

No fox in their right mind ever, but ever, wants to go up against [ a bear](http://i.imgur.com/xOBABcA.jpg).

 

“I don’t know, Keimi. Come on, your Uncle is waiting-” says I.

 

[ And I ran](https://youtu.be/BJ7NVjZ-Eyg), Keimi’s cool tail in my arms.

Her warmer arms were shaking around my neck and I didn’t look back. My job is to get Keimi to safety- if the rest of the plan goes wrong, I deal with it later, but right now- can’t fight with her in my arms, can’t let her go her own way, she can’t walk.

Don’t look back.

Don’t look back.

Don’t look back.

_Run and don’t look back, Girlkit- if you ever meet something in the forest that can eat you, run and don’t you ever look back. Don’t scream, either- you need the breath for running._

No fox in their right mind ever, but ever, wants to go up against a bear. And, God help me, I am not mad; I am not mad.

Not yet.

 

Besides, it’s not like I don’t know what to do if no one comes back to the Bar...

 

* * *

 

So, uh. I honestly only saw Bartholomew GODDAMN Kuma for about- two seconds? Maybe? And then his Paw came around and we’ve been flying ever since.

 

Now, Moda lives out in the open with Sea Kings- and not those puppies that occasionally attack ships, those things people think of when they think of Sea Kings; those are just babies, Moda's friends with the real thing. (Their Mother is, of course, Leviathan; Moda's friend since childhood is named Vritra, or Vlitra- hard to make the sound, but it's one of those, I think.)

Anyway, it’ll take more than that to knock her for six, but Lami isn’t quite that tough yet- different training, you know; and me, of course, I’ve been training since forever it seems to take down Madam- Mother- Morgan- and She’s one of the Oka Shichibukai (yes, still, they keep trying to get rid of her and she keeps showing back up; if there’s one thing my Mother does well, it’s frustrate others), if a bit on the weak side. (The weakness is in her mind; not her body. I say that like the Mind isn’t a part of the body. Tchach!)

 

I’ve been calculating the angle of his strike, and I think- I _think-_ we’re heading towards an empty spot in the Calm Belt, and I think it’s the Northern one, Cancera. If we land there, as we are now, we all die. So, we’re not doing that.

 

“MODA!”

“MAB!”

“YOU TRUST ME?”

“ABSOLUTELY!”

“CLOSE YOUR EYES AND HOLD ON TIGHT- THIS IS GONNA BE CLOSE!”

 

I grab onto Lami, tie her to Moda with my veil- Moda obligingly curls her legs around me and tucks Lami’s unconscious form between us. Their eyes are closed. I close mine. All the Shadows in the world are just one Shadow, and that’s always true- time does not affect the True Nature of the Shadow, merely its appearance.

 

* * *

 

[Two men have a conversation about a Wayward Son and a Betrayer.](https://youtu.be/HSA5d949cHA)

 

* * *

 

And so, we slide, and bleed off speed. We’re getting closer and closer and then I feel it, a pair of ship-shadows- a dragon and a whale- and the presence of honorable folk and I pull us back- out- and-

 

**_Shadow Stitching: Through the Eye of a Needle!_ **

 

We [ fall](https://youtu.be/tsIKwn6MIto) for just long enough for me to take stock of the situation. I’m thrown directly into the Battle Calm by circumstance- it doesn’t matter what trauma I might have, Moda **_needs me and my ability to do my Job. I will not shame my Honor more._ **

Take in the scene- red dragon, blue whale.

Oh, dick measuring and a clash of spirits? Perfect.

Pay no attention to the Women at Work.

 

Grotto- crows nest. Even has nest in the name.

Line with cloth; soft and dim, like a real grotto.

Battery operated humidifier with some smelling salts turned on and puffing away, for Moda’s comfort.

Soft stop. Breathe.

 

Time moves weird when you’re doing Magic.

 

Below us, two men measure their dicks and have a chat over booze.

 

We’ve real, Important, work to do- so I can’t be bothered to give two good shits about anything they have to say. Untie Lami and Moda from me; shove veil into the Shadow-bag. No time to change; do it after. Settle Moda into the stance- a deep crouching squat.

Reach into the Shadow-bag, pull out stronger smelling salts, wave them under Lami’s nose-

 

“Wake up, Lamia.”

“Nnngh!”

 

Lami opens her eyes, sees me- sees my face.

Doesn’t waste time on stupid questions like where are we, that will resolve itself without our doing a thing- what will not resolve itself is Moda’s situation.

Now that she’s somewhere safe, her whole body has relaxed- her many legs quiver and shake with the pain of each massive squeeze. Her womb bulges, has dropped down- whatever baby (or babies) is in there is in position and wants out **_right now_ **.

I pull out various supplies- handkerchiefs, small pail, bottle of clean hot water.

 

“Crowning- hanky.”

“Got it.”

 

The first baby slides out without much fanfare; a wet, slurpy sort of whoosh.

I wash it clean; two arms, ten legs- must be a Lanfolk father; swaddled her in my hanky and passed her to Lami. The baby girl immediately starts crying.

We switch out; Moda’s wince predicts the emergence of the second baby, who slides without fanfare as well, a bit faster than the first.

Lami has passed Moda the first baby, takes the second- two arms, ten fingers, ten legs- girl? Girl. Washed and swaddled and switch again- and I’m back between Moda’s legs. I can feel her heart breaking as her daughters cry.

 

 

The last baby decides to be a little shit and come ass first.

 

“Moda. Your third baby is coming breech.”

“Oh no-”

“Calm. It’s not like a Sea King; we’ve got this, and we’ve got you. You must follow my instructions exactly. I need you to stand up and widen your stance- shoulders to the mast, please.”

“I can’t- can’t move-”

“You must.”

“You- you’re shaking-”

“Excitement, Mo’. Happens every time. Now, I’m sure you want to push like last time, but I need this baby to come very, very slowly. So- pant. Pant, pant. Little push- little push; stop. Good. Little push. Little push. Little push. Stop. Well done, Moda- baby’s butt is delivered.”

“Hurts.”

“I know it well. I need you to stay **_very_ ** still now. Breathe- I’m hooking my fingers over his legs and bringing them from you and into the world; he’s got ten perfect little legs, just like his sisters. Breathe.”

“Heh. You’re not shaking anymore, Mab.”

I grin. Hold out a hand.

 

“Hanky- thank you, Lami.”

“Mmhm.”

“Oh, Lami, it’s alright- just try to keep calm, sweetheart, we’ll be alright-”

“Y-yes.” Lami’s voice quivers.

“Lami, deep breaths; if you’re going to puke, the pail is right here. Moda, f **ocus,** please. His head is still inside the birth canal, and if he becomes cold he may gasp, which would be unfortunate. I’m wrapping him in the hanky- calm, calm, **calm,** young son; we’re not there yet- with the next contraction you will feel the baby move. I am turning him a quarter circle to help ease the shoulders out- oh well done, Moda. Now- Moda, I don’t want you to move a muscle. I’m going to loosen my hand on baby and let his body hang. Not a **muscle,** Moda.”

 

I feel us shift in space. I ensure we land on the deck without Moda’s notice- her concentration is where it should be, and magic is happening. Lami must have shoved her anxiety into the crows nest; Moda is, of course, shoving her pain into it; my own focus must have been too much for the wood. We fall again, land on the deck. Behind us crashes spirit and blade and-

 

* * *

 

[Two men disagree about a course of action.](https://youtu.be/6Kpeq4kN9Uc)

 

* * *

 

I do not look away from my work.

 _ **This**_ is what’s Important.

And **_they_ ** are being too- damn- **_loud-_ **

 

* * *

 

 

 

**“Can we have quiet for the Mother, please? Thank you.”**

 

 

 

* * *

 

I probably interrupted something. Probably dick measuring- and as I said before, I don’t have time to bother with old men measuring their dicks.

 

 

 

The world goes very quiet.

 

 

 

I don’t even have to keep Moda still anymore; the ocean itself is smooth as glass, the shadows of the ships calm traceries upon it. I move us down, to the nearest reasonably shaded spot which happens to be about a half-yard from the two Captains but that’s not important and it’s not important that the crow’s nest we were in just broke and it’s not important that my pure Strength and Knowing is enough to make the Sky go Blue and the Sea still and- I genuinely don't have any Charisma, I just... I never let a little thing like that stop me, I suppose but that's not important either-

Around us fall the pieces of the crow’s nest; one bonks a man with red hair on his head. Or maybe it’s the guy with the Whitestache? Are those tusks? -I don’t give a shit, I’m busy.

 

Women at Work, Do Not Cross.

 

I hold out a hand for another swaddle, and Lami’s done this enough with me to know what I want.

 

“Here.”

“Thank you, Lami. **Now,** Moda. Push- push, push, that’s it, push push- got him.”

 

Tilt and he squeaks- done. Except not done- I feel it before it happens. I squeeze my eyes shut and-

_Pfarp! Pfarp! Pfarp!_

_Ksfeeeeeeeeeeeeeeech!_

Somewhere, I can feel my teaching midwife laughing at me.

 

Well, _now_ it’s done. I just got smacked in the face with three mermaid placentae and a rather impressive amount of ink; it **_better_ ** be done.

-It’s all over my face. And my glasses! And my buglace! Urgh!

 

“Gimme a hanky and check the sacs, Lami.”

“Snerk- S-sure, Mab, no problem.”

 

I wipe off my face. Fold the hanky. Wipe my neck and the buglace. Fold the hanky. Wipe my hands. Hanky goes into the pail on the dropcloth. That’s not a happy Lami sound, that’s a very concerned Lami sound-

 

“What’s wrong- is, is something wrong with my babies-” says Moda.

“No, nothing wrong with them- look, they’re already starting to unsquish, see- it’s the last placenta. There’s a piece missing; it’s still attached to you.” says Lami.

“Um- so, is that bad?” says Moda.

“If it’s left in you, you’ll get septicemia and die, Moda.” I say.

“Oh. That’s- that’s bad, right?” says Moda.

 **“Yes.” “Extremely.”** we say at the same time.

“So, um- what do we do?” says Moda.

“I hold your babies; Lami uses her tiny, tiny hands-” I say.

“-they’re still so small, my kung fu did nothing to change it-” says Lami.

“-right, reaches up into you, and detaches the last little bit manually before you close up too much and we have to get surgical. Neither of us really wants to do that, so-” I say. I gently take all three of the squid kids in my arms. Skwids. (What else should I call the child of one of my Squid Sisters?)

 

“Moda, I’m sorry, but this is going to hurt like a Motherfucker.” says Lami.

And then she puts her hand up Moda's-

 

I take a look at the increasingly less squishy skwids- ah, eight legs like their Mama, two legs like their- um.

 **_Those_ ** are the Portgas birthmarks- over the cheekbones and the bridge of the nose, those tiny freckle looking dots; Ace has them, Spadille has them- I have them too, but they aren’t anywhere near as visible as on those two, my skin tone is quite a bit darker. Basically every Portgas has them- the nine Littles, the Portgas cousins- everyone of us has them. (Yes, even the Mink cousins, there are freckles under the fur and sometimes their fur changes color to match, it's cute and weird too.) Like Sanji’s swirlybrow is one of his Marks; the freckles are a Portgas Mark. (And like Sanji has a slightly worrisome habit of catching himself on fire when his blood runs hot, I have the Fuckin’ Narcolepsy. Portgas blood runs strong)

And those _noses-_ all twelve (fourteen) of us have the Morgan nose, aquiline, with those _nostrils_ , and- black hair, a bit wavy. Mine curls a bit more because of my sire, but the overall texture- it was pin straight because of the amount of it, the texture… well, Hell’s bells. -[Moda](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/31/48/eb/3148eb60ed35e0cc21a47e8be60b9e1a.jpg) has orangey blond hair normally, but this is coal black and... shit. Can't be Spadey, he wouldn't have- so it must be... Moda’s stopped whimpering and trying to strangle Lami (which is a bit like trying to get blood from a turnip); I probably won't have a better chance.

Lami is also carefully examining the chunky bit in her hand, and then she smiles with relief. Good, she got it.

I hand Moda back her triplets.

She’s already resuming her normal shape- as I recall, her father was a mako shark fishman, so her “bones” are more cartilage than anything else; she has bones through her spine and her legs, but everything else is… cartilage.

-Oh Goddamn, I really don't want to... Um. Hmmrrgh. I- I have to ask.

 

“So, Moda- did you, ah… did you by chance have a good time with a man in a terrible orange hat?”

“Um.”

“-Bright orange cowboy hat, big red beads, comedy-tragedy smiley enamel pins on the brim, weird animal skull thing hanging from the strap? Wore shorts, boots, big “A” on his belt buckle? Freckles? Might have had a knife in a shitty scabbard? Narcoleptic? Looked like me an' Spadey?”

“Um… Yeees? I mean- I know his name, he’s the only man I’ve been with in three years, these are his; so.”

“...I’m going to regret this, I can feel it. -Is his name Portgas D. Ace?”

“Yeah, he’s Captain of the Spade Pirates- I’ve been looking for him for a while, why?”

 

I pinch the bridge of my nose in exasperation. Lami has moved from her hysterical sniggering to outright laughter. Tears are also running down her face. Oh, there she goes, there’s the fear vomit- right into the pail, good job Lami.

 

“Moda, Portgas D. Ace is the Second Division Commander of the Whitebeard Pirates, and two-thirds my blood-brother. -Although I suppose with a bit of reflection, that’s really not… he’s my half-brother by blood, I suppose is the best way to say it. Still the Second Division Commander of the Whitebeard Pirates, though.”

“Eh? Oh. Um-” and then she, yes, she pulls out a waterproofed carry pouch from- sssssomewhere, and I’m not thinking about where- damn haramaki bullshit- and pulls out a wanted poster and-

 

“Moda, what’s the date on that poster?” I say.

“Um- oh. Oh dear.”

“Uh huh. Walk me through your thought process?”

“Well- uh, I was working my old gig, you know: squeeze down to kiddy size, sneak onto a farm, steal the info I was sent after- wash, rinse, repeat.”

“Sure.”

“Well- so I was on a dairy farm job, and I see this guy floating down a river-”

“-oh god-”

“-well he was more sinking-”

_“-oh god dammit-”_

“-so I dragged him out and took him back to the farm-”

“-Like y-you do-” cackles Lami.

“-and I fix him up, dry him off, feed him- answer a few questions about if I had seen some Blackbeard asshole-”

“-he keeps popping up-” I say.

“-I know, right? Well, I hadn’t; and I told him so. So he leaves- and it’s my night off-”

“-right, right, every fortnight-” I say.

“ **_Exactly._ ** So I goes into town, I unfurl, have a few drinks- and there he is again, hanging out in the bar! -Playing some kind of dice game, maybe? Well, he was cute in the morning; he was fuckin’ dishy in the evening.”

“...” I’m pinching the bridge of my nose again.

Lami is howling with laughter.

 

(I can actually _feel_ the deep exasperation in the sigh Captain Whitestache Guy lets out.)

 

“Payback! Payback!” Lami wheezes.

I sigh.

 

“So after a night-”

“-and a morning, twice-”

“...All night and twice in the morning?”

“The man has stamina, and I was pleasantly surprised by his willingness to-"

"Okay, that's enough." I say.

“PAYBACK!” Lami crackles, her laughter wheezing out of a throat choked with snot and- yep, there goes the second round of vomit, right into the pail. Can’t be much chyme left in her, has to be mostly bile. I hand her the now lukewarm bottle of water, which she accepts with a nod. She starts rinsing and swishing immediately.

 

“So! After a really good time, he leaves. You realize you’re pregnant and…?”

“I send in my two weeks notice and start limbering up for the trip back to Barira Reef- you know, the seaweed forest? -because at this point I’ve realized that helping my Captain and crushing my soul are mutually exclusive.”

“Sure.”

“So then, like, my tits get super sensitive, right?”

“Oh no.” says Lami.

“Moda, you _didn’t.”_ I say.

“Well, hurting yourself is never the answer unless you’re actually trapped, so.” says Moda.

“... and the thing with the Sea Kings?” I say.

“Well, I can’t help it if the sweethearts get all huffy and protective of me, now can I? We’re friends, I don’t control them-” says Moda.

 

And Lami is gone; the stress from her phobia of babies, seeing me again (alive), and being faced with Moda’s unique brand of _perfectly reasonable_ yet also _fucking batshit_ logic has driven her to floor-pounding laughter.

 

“And I suppose your crew just showed up?” I say.

“I mean- I’m only the Captain because they follow me, so.” says Moda.

I nod.

 

"And of course, the only reasonable thing to do in this situation is find the man who got you pregnant-?" I say.

"Of course! How else am I supposed to find out important medical information, get financial support, and... well, he might like to be a part of their life, y'know? I don't want to deprive him of that, and it's not like I wasn't out at Sea  _anyway_ , and... I mean, maybe he might like a real relationship with me, too? I don't know him all that well, but I liked what I saw of him- And anyway, it's not like I really had much better things to do. I mean- I didn't really have a Father to speak of, and my children deserve better than what I got so... I guess... I just thought it would be nice for them, you know? I mean- s'why I didn't leave the Thing when Spadey offered, the only other person who might let me do what I do is Whitebeard and, well... I already had a Father. I ** _don't_** need another one." she says. Her voice reverberates with Charisma on the final statement- her decision is Final.

"...Sure, makes sense." I say. It's all I could say, really. (Moda's Mother hunted her Father down and slew him with... Better not to say. -Well, there's a reason Moda's so small, and it's nothing _good._ That's all I'll be thinking about _that_ nasty business.)

Moda, also, hasn’t changed a bit.

 

I close my eyes and clean myself off; time for a bit of a change.

Perona’s clothes should do nicely.

I only need a Shadow to make it work- and the Shadow behind my eyes is very dark and complete. Cut the stitches in my hair; let it all unfurl with the removal of the heavy wig. Take the headband from the wig because continuity; it slides on like it was made for me, drop the wig onto a head-form in my studio, make sure it’s arranged neatly; clean costume goes on a hanger, and the clean shawl goes on another; let the Coat drape over my shoulders, cape style; put my glasses back on.

Time to face facts.

I reach into my bag and pull my old shawl out. Hand it to Moda, who gasps quietly; there’s an Order and a Method to these things.

I pull out Lami’s jacket too- it’s a little blood-smelly, but clean enough when I throw it at her.

To her credit, she catches it one handed and huddles underneath it for a bit; back in the day, being faced with a crying baby would have sent her fully catatonic. She’s really grown past her fear a lot- not enough to get past the horrible automatic responses, but she might never get past those, really.

Maternity Wards are always built Strongest in Hospitals, after all; and she’s from Flevance, in Nort. Flevance-that-was; Flevance-no-more. And she was so young when the Buster Call came- really, I have no idea how she got away, only that she did and she was taken in by the Nuns who saved her and it was them who sent her to boarding school because the fire of her mind was too hungry for what the Nuns could teach her. When the Nuns ran out of things they could teach her and she could, crucially, learn; off to school she went.

 

 

Moda is all milky pale skin, orangey black speckled tentacle-legs, and hair that she can change the color of with a thought, although it’s base-color is a few tones blonder than her cousin, Shirahoshi.

Moda has eight legs, two arms, a big, vague grin and the cool calculating gaze of something… well, let’s just say that nothing with teeth like that needs to be invited for dinner. Add three babies and a [ winged shawl](http://leoelu.com.br/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/lencos-asas-moda1-700x400.jpg); (the color of it wasn’t fast until after I realized it’d turned turquoise and blue) and suddenly her presence isn’t _just_ herself.

Royalty need not wear a crown.

Some of the original brown and gold remains on the shawl; mostly, it doesn’t.

 

 

As for my clothing? In the full light of day, my coat blazes saffron and red, the shade turning it camel-brown; my blue jumpsuit is pleated and vivid and- my God, Del’s figured out how to make that [ Blue](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/b/bc/IKB_191.jpg/1200px-IKB_191.jpg) of hers workable for fabrics. There really is no other color like it in the World, it’s astonishing. -My socks are white silk kneehighs; my shoes are [ black leather](https://ae01.alicdn.com/kf/HTB12j20LVXXXXaTXXXXq6xXFXXXB/-font-b-Tai-b-font-font-b-Chi-b-font-soft-leather-font-b-shoes.jpg), meant for fighting (soft, strong leather; good grip on all terrain; perfectly fitted for my feet and even a little broken in, now; that Cordwainer in Water 7 does good work).

I look at Moda, tilt my head towards the two other Captains- who are very interested but also keeping their distance because they’re not quite that stupid- and Moda shakes her head, ‘No, not yet.’ I nod, resettle myself, and hum.

 

Everyone on the top deck of these ships can hear everything, but- well, Moda and Lami have the Charisma. Moda, in particular, has been exuding her Charisma since she started Active Labor. Lami, in response, has started pumping _her_ Charisma, so Moda doesn’t make her pass out.

And really, I don’t have any of my own- no, I swear, I don’t. I was checked extensively, and I checked myself later- I don’t have the aptitude for it.

That doesn’t mean these two can make me Bow to them, though.

No one can make me do anything I don’t want to.

(And when it comes down to it, not even Death will stop me from getting my shit done and sorted.)

-No one can make the Royals of Skua do _anything_ they don’t want to, really- excepting for a few contracts, which, handily, were broken not twelve hours ago to my recollection.

 

 

“What’re you gonna call them, Moda?” comes Lami’s wavery voice from beneath her jacket. She’s calmed herself down, somewhat. Now to head off the depressive spiral downwards- ah, I know.

“Well, since there’s three of them, they’re a set- so I guess I’ll give them my mom’s name?”

“Theocretzia?” I say.

“Urgh, no- not quite that… this one came first?” she nods to- yep, that one came first, I swaddled her.

I nod.

 

“Mm. Portgas D. [ Theodosia](https://youtu.be/zLWWvRMqZEk) Emile; making this one Portgas D. Theodora Lyra; and this is Portgas D. Theodore Rogue.” says Moda.

Lami has sat up by this point. There’s an expression of deep longsuffering on her face.

I look sidelong at Moda, who has a deeply vindicated expression on her face.

 

“You... know I’m going to call him Guppy, right?” I say. (Portgas D. Spadille Rogue- Big Fish Spadey; Portgas D. Theodore Rogue- Little Guppy. You had to be there; even I don’t know how I came up with that nickname, and I gave it to him.)

“I know.” says Moda.

Lami pulls on her jacket and shakes her head, despairing of us both.

Moda and Lami’s Charisma thickens, and steadies.

Again, I don’t have any, they just- they don’t scare me.

 

“So- since we’re all here, and it’s fresh in our minds… we might as well fill out the Birth Certificates _now_ , rather than later.” I say.

Lami groans, because she’s a whiny baby, but Moda chirrups with excitement.

 

“Oh- you have the rest of the baby stuff too, Lami, but- how are you going to…?” says Moda, before trailing off.

I’ve pulled out a really long pair of surgical gloves.

Lami is staring at me, excitement slowly building up in her.

I’m grinning.

I've been waiting five years to do this.

 

“So, I got in touch with Perona a while back- y’all remember her?”

They nod.

I smile wider.

 

“So, Lami- I’m gonna assume you haven’t changed all that much since School. Second shelf to the left in the Infirmary storeroom, and third drawer next to your bed, aye?”

“...Aye.” says Lami, her eyes glittering with excitement.

“Before we get too far- are there any snacks or drinks to be had…?” says Moda, grinning.

“Yes, here-” I say, tossing her a packed lunch and a large bottle of water.

 

I’m the Mom-friend and it’s time to accept it.

Or rather- I’m the MILF-friend.

-Listen, when you go to boarding school for seven years, the last two of which are deep in the throes of serious puberty, and your entire dorm room and dorm floor is full of your same-age mates, and you all know each other, bathe together, study together, go to most of the same classes and have the same lunch periods, and it’s a single gender dorm so clothing became optional about two weeks in during the first year- and most importantly of all, one of the many, many, _many_ near constant discussion topics was “most perverted usage of a random Devil Fruit”- listen.

Listen.

 

I say, sometimes, with amusement, that my husband, Sanji, is a pervert.

This is because I am not a pervert.

I am a **_super_ ** pervert.

This, right here?

This is part of why.

 

“If I may-?” I say, holding up a large blue adjustable [ shampoo hat](https://ae01.alicdn.com/kf/HTB1DuIBHVXXXXcWXXXXq6xXFXXX6/Baby-Kid-Child-Adult-Shampoo-Bath-Shower-Cap-Hat-Wash-Hair-Shield-Adjustable-HG277.jpg).

Lami has already taken her hair down; it falls in an inky black river, the sun catching and lighting it with glimmers of orange and blue. She twists her hair up with one hand; I clip the shampoo hat around her head.

I toss my jacket to one side. Pull on the plain white gloves that go all the way up to my armpits; sure is nice that this jumpsuit is sleeveless…

And then- **“Shadow Stitching: Hand Pick.”**

 

“aaaaa-ahahhahaaahahaahahaaaaaaaaaaaahAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH- MAB MAB OH MY GOD MAB IT’S TOO BIG IT’S NOT GOING TO FIT-”

“-well, with an attitude like that, no-”

“-GAAAAAAAAAH, IT FEELS WEIRD IT FEELS WEEEIRRRRRRRRRD NNNNGHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH-”

“-stop squirming and relax-”

“-IT’S TOO BIG IT’S TOO BIG-”

“-it’s fine-”

“-OOOOOOOOH _MYYYYYYYYY GOOOOOOOOOOOOO_ ** _OOOOOOOOOOOD!_ ** **-”**

 

As blood splatters onto the deck of the white whale-ship from the various men who have regained consciousness from the earlier dick measuring contest, only to lose it again due to exsanguination, I pull an entire large backpack filled with nifty baby things- and the files too, which is helpful, and just as we were taught during our Medical courses- from the top of Lami’s head.

I slide the bag over to Moda, who starts going through and collecting things she wants right now- twatsicle, hand sanitizer, the papers- right, Insho.

I shove my arm back into Lami’s head. She squeals, and about twenty men collapse to the deck from acute bloodloss.

 

 

Oh, so _that’s_ Red Haired Shanks- well, he’s blushing fit to turn his hair pale. Not quite bleeding yet, though. Whitestache is grinning like a fiend. And the… pineapple head guy? He’s got his hands covering his eyes but he’s peeking through his fingers like he can’t quite look away.

I have to twist my arm _just **so,**_ and Lami shudders and moans.

I’ve seen her orgasm before, and it really is a sight to see- she makes the dumbest faces, it’s hilarious.

And then I close my hand around the case of her Insho and begin drawing my arm back out and she screams and whimpers and gasps and about thirty more men drop to the deck from blood loss.

Shanks’ nose is bleeding, as is Whitestache’s.

-His name is Whitestache, right?

My hand slides free of Lami with a pop, and a splurt of shadows. All the rest of the men who aren’t the Pineapple Head guy, some of the other… I guess those are other commanders, Whitestache himself, and Shanks who is starting to go pale from the bloodloss- anyway, all the rest of the men have fallen unconscious. As have most of the men on the red dragon-ship.

I put Lami’s Insho case down in front of her, and peel off my gloves- they’re perfectly clean, I just needed them for the show of it.

 

Now then.

 

“Moda, are you ready?”

“Oh yeah, that was great- letting Lami have a moment?”

“Well, you remember what she likes...”

“Gosh, I sure do- the hat fetish is a little weird though. Glad you remembered it, I never could...”

“Heh. Now then- I have a pen here, and I assume you have your Insho-?”

“I sure do!”

“Alrighty; everything seems to be peachy-keen. Now- Let me just...”

I fill out the forms. I pause over the name section. I look at Moda.

 

“Did I ever explain how I came by my Name…?” I say.

“No, you always changed the subject- all three of you did...?”

“Ah. Well. Harry Morgan and Portgas D. Rouge were lovers for a good ten years, and for various reasons- well, nevermind **that**. During Harry Morgan’s early tenure with the Oka Shichibukai, she became enamored with a young Marine by the name of Kuzan.”

“...Wait, you don’t mean-”

“Mhm.”

“But- but Portgas D. Rouge disavowed Harry Morgan, she- ...Mab, who signed your…?”

“My _fenna_ , Portgas D. Ravelle. And my Mother, Harry Morgan. And her husband, Gol D. Roger. -But not their wife, Portgas D. Rouge. Not for me, or Titania.”

“-!”

Moda looks so- sad.

 

“So. If, upon your reunion with Portgas D. Ace, you discover that he will not stand for them… I will, as my _fenna_ did before me.”

“Mab...”

“Kindness is not something to be paid back; it is to be paid forwards. Aye, that is so. -Will you allow thus?”

“-I will. Ah- but, if he does stand for them, will you… I know it’s not- it’s not a tradition in Skua, but, if he does stand for them, will you be their godmother?”

“...what’s a godmother?”

“It means if something happens to me, you’ll mother them in my stead.”

“Ah. ...R-really? Me?”

“Mmhm.”

“I- yes, alright. Sure.”

 

Thankfully, there’s space on the documents for just such additions- I write in Moda’s Provision for her children, and her children’s Full Names (which I can only pray they never need), and sign my name, and stamp it with all three of my Insho. And I’m very careful to not get any tear-spots on the documents, they just make you fill them out again on clean copy; and charge a fee for it, the bloodsuckers.

Lami, with her hair bound back in her customary twin buns, makes the wiggly fingers for the paper work. I hand it over to her, and carefully put my seals away- the one I got for sale, only three hundred fifty beri total; the solid gold one; and the last one, with the old Skuan Runes spelling out my full name on it and everything.

Lami signs the paperwork, hands it back to me.

 

“File that at the most appropriate time, would you Mab?” says Lami.

“Of course.” I say, carefully putting the papers in the folder they came out of and the folder into a drawer in my Studio where they can stay safe. They can’t actually be filed yet; I can’t set foot in a Skuan Office, nor can Moda for various reasons- but I’ll be able to eventually, and then…

 

“I suppose we should talk to whoever’s Captain of this ship- and how did we even get here?” says Moda.

“Probably, I guess; the ones that are still conscious, anyway. Suppose most Low Blue men can’t handle a pair of Ladies getting their assault with a friendly weapon on. -Bartholomew GODDAMN Kuma is a fucking jackass; Mother was not lying about that, at least.” I say.

“Man, **_fuck_ ** Kuma. -oh, are they done measuring their dicks?” says Lami.

“God, I hope so.” I say.

“Mm. Yeah, let’s have us a chat, I guess.” says Moda.

 

We all three of us look at the dude with the Whitestache, and the Guy with Red Hair. Whitestache is all but bouncing in anticipatory glee, while Guy with Red Hair has- one hand pressed over his face? Hmph.

So with my glasses on and cleaned again, I realize exactly who we’ve interrupted; Whitebeard, who looks scary and threatening- but his shadow isn’t backing him up; and Red Haired Shanks looks scary and foreboding but his shadow is- embarrassed? Amused, too. Hm.

No matter. I’m the least important person here right now; Trafalgar Lami, also, has no real stake here.

Moda is different.

Oh _wow;_ I’m _**hungry.**_

Anyway.

 

Hmm. Let me think now- I wonder how the rest of my crew is doing?


	22. Power, Wisdom, Courage- and a Crazy Fucker, just in case.

* * *

* * *

 

**_"T **hink about where you want to go on vacation." said the Tyrant to the Singer.**_ **

**_"Strike me down, O Tyrant of Bears. I will not Bow to you." said the Singer to the Tyrant._ **

**_"Die, then; and on your head be it." said the Tyrant to the Singer._ **

**  
**

* * *

 

A soldier's song is a nice song, when you hear it the first time.

-An old soldier's song about angels, maybe; and it's amazing what those angels cause to 'rise up' as the song progresses. It's a real soldier's song: sentimental, with dirty bits. You'll hear them sing it, after battles; and you'll see old men cry when they do.

'Why? Why cry at such a cheerful song?'

Because the singer is remembering who they are **not** singing the song with.

 

Music has a great and terrible Power; yes, that is so.

I learned this Truth long before I ever met you, or Captian, or Mab, or anyone; I always knew it, Brook.

 

What do _you_ think Doctor Crocus does when he's all by himself?

 

* * *

  

GODDAMN PIECE OF SHIT BARTHOLOMEW GODDAMN KUMA DOES NOT GET TO DECIDE WHAT HAPPENS TO ME I **REFUSE-**

 

 

_**-I WILL NEVER BOW TO YOUR TYRANNY-** _

 

 

And the world-

Slides-

_Back-_

 

**_"Time Song: Three Day's Grace!"_ **

 

 _-scraaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA_ **_AAAAAAAAAAAAAAASH!_ **

 

 

 

Urgh. Ow. I roll myself up onto my feet, shake and smack myself clean of various debris. That fucking asshole- oh, I’m adding him to my list, fucking- Scramble’s okay, so are the snail-pals; jerk! Is there glass in my hair?

 

“Hey, is there glass in my hair?”

“Um- yeah, a little bit.”

“Fucking Kuma bullshit-”

 

I bend over and scrub my hair out with my fingers; [ the guy in the pink robe ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/d0/87/75/d0877556492461b5492f15c0515f2e73.jpg) doesn’t say anything. He seems startled. Oh- fucking- if that asshole fucked up my cans, I’m going to actually cry with rage; I really hope the feathers are okay.

Okay, feathers are fine.

Oh gosh, that post- not load bearing, would have collapsed the building by now- but I definitely took it out when I crashed through, so let me just- hup! And I throw it out of the bar I’ve crashed into, neatly missing [ the heavy metal devotee ](http://data.whicdn.com/images/101377344/large.jpg).

Man, _fuck_ Bartholomew Kuma. Wait- is that the time, but I was just-

 

“Hey, what’s the date?”

“Uh-” and he tells me.

 

SHIT! But- just a bit of a skip-rewind, so… okay, I’ve been mildly displaced in time, it’s cool, it’s fine. This is fine.

 

[ _Puru-puru-puru!_ ](https://youtu.be/ptKVh99GWcQ) _Gatcha!_

 

I pull out the big shell-consoler, the… conference phone rig? It’s not like a normal phone rig, it’s special- and pull my cans over my ears.

 

“You’ve reached the number you most recently dialed.”

“Bry! Listen, I’m with Streaker Moda- we’re heading towards uh… let’s call it the crossroads of destiny.” says Mark.

“...Those crossroads that have a giant storm warning on them? The ones that basically our entire crew is heading towards- or trying to, I guess?”

“Yeah those. I’ll be there in three days, and knowing Taff- well, she’s not going to know she’ll need eyes until after she gets there. So, uh. The rest of my money’s in my pillowcase- go ahead and buy whatever you need, it’s fine.” says Mark.

“I- right, right. Safe travels, Mark.”

“Hey- yeah. Oh- and watch your back, Bry. Looks like you’ll be on your own for a bit.” says Mark.

And then he hung up.

 

I close my shell-phone, stow it back with Scrabble. I- okay, Bryony, think. I’ve got- I’ll need an unregistered, untraceable _heario_ , something that won’t register with any communer (because it’s best to assume you’ll be battling yourself at some point) as communicable. I can only commune with snails, but snails aren’t the only objects that can pick up those specific electromagnetic waves...

 

I know what I need to do.

 

“...Do you know where a good Telecom Store is?”

“Actually-” says Pink Robe.

“DON’T FUCKING IGNORE ME!” yells the devotee. I feel like I’ve seen him before.

“-yeah, I could show you?” continues Pink Robe.

I look at the guy in the pink robe. I see [ myself ](http://img02.deviantart.net/57a3/i/2014/240/7/a/cyberpunk_girl_by_ayyasap-d7wzopf.jpg), reflected in his eyes. He’s- his ears are turning pink? ~~Well, it’s not like he’s not a total dish, but… I- I don’t have the time. Dammit!~~

 

“Oh- um. It looks like you’re busy with something? Best if you just tell me.” Not today, I’m on a tight enough schedule as it is.

“-Sure, sure. Uh, I think it was right around Grove 65, 68? There’s a big Tele-market there; you’ll be able to find nearly anything you could need.” he says.

“...Thanks. Sorry, I’ve gotta go-”

 

And then I waved goodbye to Eustass Kidd and said goodbye to Scratchmen Apoo and ran for it.

 

 

 

I’ve got a little bit less than a day to make what purchases I can, before it’ll be extremely dangerous to be out in the open.

Short list- eel skull big enough to fit over my head, bird skulls, bird bones, radio parts, guts of a typewriter, keyboard, good microphone, provisions, a disguise but there might be one at home…

It’s going to be a hell of a shopping spree and no mistake. First stop, Sunny- grab all the ready cash from the cashbox; Nami can kill me later- grab Mark’s donation too. Then I’ve got the next three days to build myself a rig from whatever I can scrounge, scrape together, steal, buy, and borrow; and then, god help me, I’m Live.

 

Well, the only _easy_ day was yesterday.

Now how did that song go again...? Ah- I remember. _'_. _.. If I cannot fly; let me sing.'_

My cue's in three days; I've got to have Songs to sing by then.

 

...Fuck it; let's go.

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

 

_**"Think about where you want to go on vacation. A nice, peaceful spot." said the Tyrant to the Gunslinger.** _

_**"There's no peace for the wicked." was the Gunslinger's reply.** _

 

* * *

 

I am a man not of woman born, and when I was born it was without fear- that’s a lie, of course. I wasn’t scared for myself, though- I was scared for my family. I still am.

I do my best to be gentle, but- see here, the wisdom of my elders: of the three things all Wise men fear; the Sea in a Storm, a Night with no Moons, and the Anger of a Gentle Man; the most bitter is the anger of a gentle man.

It is said: by three methods we may learn wisdom: First, by reflection, which is noblest; Second, by imitation, which is easiest; and Third by experience, which is the bitterest.

And so we come to this.

 

Y’see, it were this way.

I come round the door an' seen those many men an’ heard them talkin’ shit. Then he seen me, an' very impolite goes straight for his gun. He oughtn't have tried to throw a gun on me - whatever his reason was. That there's meetin' me on my own grounds.

I've seen runnin' molasses that was quicker'n him.

Now I didn't know who he was, visitor or friend or relation of god, though I seen he was a Damnfool all over, an' I couldn't get serious about shootin'. So I winged him- put a bullet on his arm as he was pullin' at his gun. An' he dropped then an there, an' a little blood or oil or some damn thing flew back with the water, and six of his fellows too.

I told him he'd introduced himself sufficient, an' to please move out of my vicinity.

He introduced himself as “Bartholomew Kuma”- the Tyrant, holder of the Paw-Paw; man's built like a bear.

 

The Tyrant said “Unfortunately for you I’ve already struck someone else down today, gunslinger. I have a schedule to keep- and so I will make this quick.” He said “Think about where you want to go on vacation; a nice, peaceful spot.”

“There’s no peace for the wicked, sir.” I replied.

"Fine, then; on your head be it." he said.

 

My knuckles went white on my guns; and his hand came’round and pushed me aside like a hard wind. I could not shoot him fast enough to save myself- and behind me, I saw my lovers, Luffy and Usopp, and they saw me being sent away and the strike knocked me unconcious-

 

* * *

 

 

-and I woke from the Tyrant's Push just before I hit the water.

Water! Can’t breathe- use the gas shell, Mark, quickly.

Air! Breathe, smoothly- slow breaths, focus; where am I?

I’m in a deep- it looks like a well, but underwater? There’s a ripple of underwater-dust, of, grit, of silt- a pawprint, drifting up from where I’m lying. No, not a well- an open spot in a kelp forest, a stone pillar surrounded by cairn-piles covered in seaweed. The water is cold but comfortable; and everywhere I can see schools of fish gamboling.

 

**Bilgesucker, rust, and wood rot!**

May God curse the jelly-fingered mammering craven slop-tongued shit-licking blood-pissing fucker that did this to me! May every flea and fireant, every leech and hookworm, every piece of broken glass and every burnt fuse and every rotten waterhose and every frayed line in all Creation find and feast upon him and befoul him wherever he goes! May his steps never be free of torment; may his food turn to ash in his mouth-

The Devil take and keep him, and his dirty whore's mouth and his- his- hyaaaaaargh-

A pox on him and his household; ignorant swine. Everyone who ever loved him was  ** _Wrong_**. His mother should have given his father a blowjob instead of having him! The midwife was wrong; he was actually a malignant tumor this whole time! May he never have a hearth to call his own; may the Devil take his last Beri! A breaking and crushing on his bones! May he be a load for four before year's end! May the Curse of Mary the Whore and her nine blind dead children chase him so far over the Hills of Damnation that even God can't find him with a telescope!

May the lambs of Heaven stir their hooves through the Roof of the World and kick his ass all the way Down to Hell!

 

Hell's bells, if'n I'm going to do this, I'm doing it right.

 

I stand in the cloud of silt; assume the position that feels right. And then-

 

-I dance.

 

* * *

 

_O spirits of the Land, the Sea, the Sky; hear my prayer. O spirits of the Land, the Sea, the Sky; hear my desire._

_Revenge is as revenge does; sweet to taste when eaten coldly- sweeter still to send their Wrongs back into their face threefold._

_O spirits of the Land, the Sea, the Sky; hear my prayer. O spirits of the Land, the Sea, the Sky; hear my desire._

_Heaven’s light is strong above; an’ hot as Hell below. Hard and fierce my curse shall prove, and strongly shall it grow._

_O spirits of the Land, the Sea, the Sky; hear my prayer. O spirits of the Land, the Sea, the Sky; hear my desire._

_Now my curse shall find you there- wherever your foul heart did take you; what you sense reflect until, trapped within ‘tis three times three._

_O spirits of the Land, the Sea, the Sky; hear my prayer. O spirits of the Land, the Sea, the Sky; hear my desire._

_Now my prayer shall find you there- wherever your foul deeds did fall; let your Wrongs and curses to kill return and roost with you forever more._

_O spirits of the Land, the Sea, the Sky; hear my prayer. O spirits of the Land, the Sea, the Sky; hear my desire._

_Now my desire shall find you there- wherever your foul spirit flees; you will be trapped in your own Curse; you will be caught in your own Trap; you will be killed by your own Fate; you will be dead before too long._

 

_O spirits of the Land, the Sea, the Sky; hear my prayer. O spirits of the Land, the Sea, the Sky; hear my desire._

_O spirits of the Land, the Sea, the Sky; hear my prayer. O spirits of the Land, the Sea, the Sky; hear my desire._

_O spirits of the Land, the Sea, the Sky; hear my prayer. O spirits of the Land, the Sea, the Sky; hear my desire._

 

**_Oh spirits of the Land, the Sea, the Sky, hear my prayer and my desire- and Obey!_ **

 

* * *

 

 

I know it worked for two reasons; firstly, when I struck the final pose of the spell, a Wave of force shot out of my body in a sphere, and settled the silt back into the ocean's floor. Secondly, the water was full of sea-spirits, and flittering from my exhalations were sky-spirits, and beneath my feet were grumbling land-spirits; and all of them heard me, and obeyed.

So, anyway, before I forget-

 ** _-Fuck_** Bartholomew Kuma, and all who call his actions good; may the Devil cut off his dick and shove it up his ass, that limp-dick son of a shitweasel!

That-

That-

 

I wasn’t even _doing_ anything.

I mean, I was _**gonna,**_ but- and I still have all my guns and bullets; so that’s something.

 

I’m laying in new-made sand, sharp on my skin; my red hair waves in time to the kelps dancing, dappled in golden light burnishing it copper-gold and bronze. Thick green kelp slowly waves back and forth around me, and slowly poking their heads out- mermaids. Fishmen and Fishwomen too; a crew of pirates, all under the waves.

I sit up, my hair a cloud of bloody red around me; my cardigan got vanished in the trip here. My undershirt- I picked it to fit under the clothing I was wearing- oh that _asshole._ [ He pushed the stripes off my skirt!](https://gyazo.com/015d6dbf5e47eca6cddd52ba5b0e744d) That _bastard!_

I take a moment to use the buttons sewn into the inner hem of the skirt; best to gird my loins. Swimming around in a skirt is a pain in the ass, really- but I don't feel comfortable changing. -My star-shaped hairclip is where it should be- keeping my bangs pressed to one side of my head. Thank  _god;_ Usopp won it for me at the Midway in Sabaody Park, and I would have been  _livid_ if I'd lost it.

 

Behind me is- a wooden ship? No, some kind of- a cross between a ship and a saddle and a city, made of wood and woven kelp and brass. It looks like a [ Whale](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/d1/82/ab/d182ab5b20b43ffcf01e578e9cdfe081.jpg), sunken into the deep sand.

It _is_ a whale- where in the hell-?

On it’s side is tattooed [ a mermaid with a star on her brow](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/e2/0c/46/e20c46410bb340b12a25bea3f391c7f4.jpg). Around her body curls a heavy wave of burning red hair; her tails are deep red, split; and her grin is… extensive. In her hand is a boiling cup of- something.

The whale’s same is… _Starbuck_ , I guess.

Odd.

 

Out past _Starbuck’s_ enormous humpback, a forest of giant green kelp gently waves. Nosing through the massive leaves are- that’s a Sea King. That’s a Sea King that would need all four of our Monsters to handle if it went for the ship. The water I can see through the green seaweed is black as nightmares, filled with darker shadows.

A shadow passes over my head, and I look up and see- It’s a [ dobhar-chu](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/18/3a/2f/183a2fe310d9d3d2589ad1bf9c341476.jpg)!

There are others- but to be that size in relation to a dobhar-chu, this must be… this is… this is a Calm Belt! I’m at the sandy bottom… I’m at a depth of… has to be .4572 km at most, the light’s too bright for it to be anything else.

I exhale, and watch the bubbles of my breath flutter upwards in silvery coin-sized flickers. The seaweed shifts and sways with a strange, gentle grace.

In this place, it is best to only do things I understand. I know how to stay calm; breathe deeply through the mask over my nose and mouth and under my chin. I know how to make the nictitating Strength close over my eyes like a lens that doesn’t truly exist enough to make my eyes hurt- keeps them clear of silt and bits.

Most importantly of all, I know how to ask for help; speaking underwater was the first thing Ma taught me how to do.

 

“Salaam? Can anyone help me?” I call out.

 

The slow chill of Sea King’s attention yields to the expectant gaze of hundreds of Sea Folk.

…Did I just fall into a prophecy or something?

 

Before anything- unfortunate... or weird as shit- could happen, a Shadow passes through the water, only to resolve itself into: an Octopus-mermaid with babies and my crewmate’s shawl.

It’s “Streaker” Moda; I guess someone must have gotten her out of the snowglobe-thing at the Slave Auction. Good; glad we got that right, at least.

The Shadow is gone- but the mermaid, Moda, remains. She glides through the water like nothing I’ve ever seen, wheels around me, examines me like I’m something interesting. Our crew’s flag is on my undershirt- most days, I don’t really bother with an overshirt. Maybe that’s it?

 

“Salaam. Can you help me get to… um, I guess not Sabaody… so, um, wherever my Captain’s going go be?” I say.

 

Moda grins.

“Sure! -EVERYONE! WE’RE GOING TO MARINEFORD! MY BABIES DADDY’S BEING EXECUTED BY THE MARINES AND I WON’T STAND FOR IT. GO IF YOU’RE GONNA; STAY IF YOU’RE NOT.”

“YES, CAPTAIN!”

“Hah, this should be fun- as for you, you’ll ride with me on Vlitra. I assume you’ll be wanting to help save Portgas D. Ace from being executed?”

 

I nod. I can’t actually speak and breathe at the same time right now- _holy fuck she feels like a Mama Sea King when she shouts, holy fuck-_ but, well.

I don’t actually Know where I am, exactly; I do know what my crewmates are going to be doing, if they can manage it. Which means, I need to get to Marineford- I read the newspapers too, after all. I’ll trust Captain Moda to get me there because Ma trusts her with the thing she made for herself before it changed; it's the winged cape of a Princess or a Queen. She wouldn't give it to just anyone, pregnant or whatever.

So.

 

“Good, good. And you’re a Straw Hat too- met Queen Mab again, aye. Come. Let’s get you settled.”

 

And so it was that I rode for Marineford in the backbubble of Vlitra; we go to Marineford to fight.

I should call Bryony and let her know I’m okay, and- Ah, kept my snail in my skirt pocket, not my cardigan, good…

Let me just-

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

_**Of the Fox, the Tyrant said thus: "There is this difference between genius and common sense in a Fox: Common sense is governed by circumstances, but circumstances is governed by genius. And Foxes are many things; but fools, they are not."** _

_**'-An’ when Massa Bear come, Tar-baby ain't sayin' nuthin', an' sista Fox-? She lay Low.’ said the Fox of the Tyrant.** _

 

* * *

 

Let's be perfectly clear, yis?

 

The Fox is not a little puppy-dog with doe eyes and a waggly tail and big pointy ears that rich people can coo over in delight because their pet is _'sooooo cuuuuuute'_.

The fox is a fear-ridden wolf with a chip on her shoulder because: She is Small, and everything bigger than her wants something of hers that is Important; her fur, her food, her family, her freedom.

She has the morals of a psychopath, the brains of a hunting hound, the teeth of a great white shark, and the tenacity of a rat.

Foxes are not pets.

Do not forget this Truth.

For Foxes have not forgotten it- no, not ever.

 

Not even the Foxes in human skin.

 

* * *

 

 

So.

I didn’t realize the old guy at the auction was important. I just thought he was a weird old guy who kept trying to be a nuisance, but- um.

 

Let me try to start from the beginning- er, no. I'll start from where it's right to start.

I got Keimi back to Miss Shakky’s backroom in her bar, where Hachi-octopus Uncle-man was convalescing- that’s a fun word to say, but not to mean- and she. Um.

She kissed me really hard when I told her what happened to him and how I helped and, and, uh- we, um. We were kissing really hard.

-I like Keimi. I liked her on the Ferris Wheel which spun us up very high and she was scared so I held her hand, and the Carousement Wheel which made me feel very vomity but she wanted to go twice so we went twice, and the Photography Booth which we both got pictures from the little print-out strips and my strip is in my wallet and- um-

 

So the old guy is actually Miss Shakky’s husband, and he’s very scary, okay; coughed real loud, and uh.

 

“Be nice to her, Mr. Ray! My girlfriend can’t help being overprotective and worried about me, you know the kind of trouble I get into-” says Keimi.

“K-keimi, I-” says I.

“Fox-kid, you and I need to have a word.” says Mr. Ray.

“Um.” says I, like a fool.

“Just a friendly chat, kid. Come on.” says Mr. Ray.

 

I gulped, and followed him out into- a hallway, between the backroom and the bar. My face is burning; my ears, my neck, my throat, the backs of my hands. Um.

He’s not saying anything.

UM.

 

“S-sorry for being rude earlier. I was very- focused, and worried, a-and. Um. Yis, sorry.” says I.

Mr. Ray smirked and laughed softly, but- he was not amused.

“It’s fine, kid. I just had to ask- did you abandon your crewmates out of youthful heartache, or…?” says Mr. Ray.

“H’I- My job was to get Miss Keimi out, and bring her back here; a-and that’s what I did. So, I didn’t abandon them.” says I.

“Sure. Bartholomew Kuma just scattered your crewmates across the world, but- hey, you _definitely_ didn’t abandon them.” says Mr. Ray.

I look at him very- carefully. No, too big.

“H’you make up your mind like that- fine. S'not my problem. I’m the Cabin Boy of the Straw Hats, more or less. So- no. No, Mister Ray, I did _**not**_ try to fight Bartholomew Kuma when he came past; I did not try to fight a Shichibukai with both arms around a frightened mermaid and a month and a half of live weapon training to my name. That is not my job, nor am I ready for that, and- most importantly- _it wouldn't have changed anything._   **My** job, Mister Ray, was securing Miss Keimi’s escape from the Slave Auction, which I did.” says I.

“Well. Don’t expect any help from me with your crew, kid. Your job’s done, right?” says Mr. Ray. Then he glances at me like I did exactly the wrong thing, and walks away.

 

Old people are _assholes_ ; old people who are wallowing in their own grief are _worse._ Grief, after all, makes it so you can't see what's right in front of your eyes.

What kind of person does he think I am?

 

 

I go back to Keimi- she obviously heard the whole thing. I look at her. She looks at me. She’s- crying.

 

“Keimi-” says I.

“I’m not dumb, you know. I- I get in a lot of trouble, and- I don’t care anymore. I- you saved me, and your whole crew is- is-” says Keimi.

“Hey, it’s-” says I.

“No, I’m not done talking. I don’t- I’m not supposed to leave without someone responsible and strong with me. Like I can’t handle myself, like I’m- like I’m just a child. -I’m **_done_ ** . I’m done being the reason people get yelled at, get fired, get in trouble- no. **_No more_ **. Y-you want help to find your crew?” says Keimi.

“Actually- I know where those that can manage it are going to be, I think. Yis, um- Fire Fist Ace is my Captain’s bloodpact brother-” says I.

“-Well that makes things much simpler.” says Keimi.

“Yis?” says I.

“Yes. I turn seventeen in a bit less than two days, so that’s fine; as for the rest… we need to go to Takoyaki 8, across town. Our house is under the restaurant; I need some things, if I want to help you save your Captain's brother.” says Keimi.

“Um- okay, but... won't your Uncle or Miss Shakky or Mister Ray-?” says I.

“Old people always act like their ideas about how to **_be,_** about- about how to Live are... Right. -Like they didn’t fuck it up, like… like their shit don’t stink **too.** I’m done being 'someone else’s problem;- I’m done being the cause of mistakes and pain and suffering. I’m going to be _my_ **_own_ ** _problem_ now. -You… you saved me, Taffeta. [ So I’ll save you.](https://youtu.be/SpL4CQKp_5g)” says Keimi.

“...keimi...” whispers I, pinkflushed.

“There’s things I need at Takoyaki 8, so I can help. Can you get me there?” says Keimi.

“Yis. I can get you there but… it’s best if we go now.” says I.

 

Keimi nods, brushes a kiss over her uncle’s sleeping brow. Whispers in his ear; “sorry, uncle hachi. sorry you were involved; sorry I wasn’t brave enough to tell you outright. Love you. I’ll see you later, okay? ...I didn’t hear a no, so. Love you, Uncle Hachiman.”

I pretend not to hear her.

She turns away from us both, shudders as tears overcome her for a moment in time I dare not reach her through.

 

I catch Hachi-man’s eyes opening; I give him my nod. He smirks back, melancholy but proud, then closes his eyes and resettles on the bed. She whispers something to her pet, Pappug; Pappug nods, crying, then plops into bed with Hachi-man and curls up near his neck.

I take the spare sheet, unfold it; wrap Keimi in it [ like Mab taught me](https://usercontent2.hubstatic.com/10628193_f520.jpg), a long time ago. Strong people can dismiss my skills all they want; my lack of presence, my speed, tenacity, strength, learning speed, caution- these are what my crew needs from me. Not guts.

My crew doesn’t need me to fight unwinnable battles; they need me to Get Shit Done.

 

It takes us three hours to get across town, avoiding patrols of Marines and creeping through militarized checkpoints; Keimi directs me down a back staircase to her and her uncle’s shared home. I stand in clean hip deep water while she flits around the lower levels; she gathers what she needs- raids their pantry, gathers water bottles, puts it all in a [ big lemon backpack](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/73/f2/8b/73f28b1e2a31b650f538efa268dc9bde.jpg). Writes a long letter to her Uncle, Hachiman; a shorter one for Pappug, her friend who doesn't want to go with her. Seals them with three Insho; hers, her banks, and hers again but for legal documents.

Goes into what must be her room for a moment- returns with... Oh, she’s, she’s holding a bottle of something-?

 

“This is a potion I got from a Djinni a long time ago, one of two- the other one’s in my bag. When I drink the first one, my tail will transform into legs, and then I have to seal it with… with some kind of Soulful Action. Most of the ones you can do solo are, are soul tarnishing- like setting fire to living trees, or killing an animal just for fun. There are others, though- having sex, gathering and eating your own food for a certain amount of time, and some other things... -The Djinni said he could only guarantee the spell would work until I turned twenty, and it wouldn’t be safe for me to take it at all until I was at least sixteen. He said that, that Magic has consequences- I drink this, and I’ll engage in a Soulful action, and in the morning I’ll drink the other one; and then I’ll be able to switch at will, until the spell ends when I'm twenty, and grown.” says Keimi.

I nod. Smile at her, wavery. There’s always a price for such things.

“-Is your choice, yis.”

“Yes. It is. Fffff-fuck it. Fuck it. -Bottoms up.” says Keimi.

 

[ She drinks the potion](https://youtu.be/01ZbUKvSAA4?t=1m49s)[.](https://youtu.be/01ZbUKvSAA4?t=1m49s) It must taste dreadful, because she had to clamp a hand over her mouth to keep it down. I rush forwards, catch her in my arms as she flinches and falls; and then it’s like the water surrounding her tail is boiling. Light catches and blazes over her pink scales, spots of green flickering- lightning- sharp hot fizzing-

She whimpers, then holds onto me very tightly; her tail beats the water, then splits. Two long legs thrash through the water, covered in green hair, like on her head and her furry vagina and she-

Tears run down Keimi’s face as the transformation settles, and she slowly stands on her own.

I look at her. She looks at me.

I’ve only seen that kind of look on Mab-mama’s face when she sees _fauna_ Sanji do something she thinks is cute. Oh. OH! Uh.

...Sex is a Soulful Action... Well, alright.

Let’s have sex then.

 

[ Kiss kiss, fall in love! ](https://youtu.be/r-38Bh9Sr2I)

I stepped closer to Keimi, and let her wrap her arms around my shoulders, stroke my hands against her sides and gentle gentle down her sides, watch to see if she likes it and she does-

I pressed my mouth against hers and pressed my lips to her lips and closed my eyes to breathe her in and held her in my arms and wrapped my wings around her and listened to the sounds she made, the soft sighs and hums as I touch her hold her hug her kiss her-

She peels me out of my clothing and I pull hers away too, the sheet tugging away with a soft sigh; scratch fingers through hair whose hand was that don’t know like letting go like diving into the Sea I fall I fall and she rises to meet me-

Her mouth is hot like like hot hot sweet and clean and smelling faintly of peaches and when I nibble on her neck she giggles is this okay- _this is okay more more Taffeta more-_

 

The World fades away; the water fades the sounds of the city fades the buzzing sound of the electric lights fades until all that’s left is Keimi her brown eyes her green hair her pale skin and her sharp fangs and her strong, powerful mouth tucked into a pout and I-

Squirm because that felt weird, I don’t know how I liked that. Stop.

 

“Taffeta? I- what did I do?”

“Um. I’m- I’m not sure. Hah. P-put your hands back on my wings, maybe?”

“Okay… I was doing this-”

“-That yis nice-”

“And then this-?”

“Still good-”

“Then, this…?”

“GAH! STOP!”

“Sorry, sorry-”

“No, is- it doesn’t hurt, you didn’t hurt me, it’s just… it feels _weird_ , Keimi.”

“Weird how?”

“Like… like a cramp that feels really odd and nice, between my legs? Only very very strong when you rub and pull like that… I- um. Mmm.”

“So, like this maybe?”

“Tha-aaaah- aaaaaaaaaaaaaah AAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-”

“-mmmmmMMMMMM-”

“-aahahahahahaaaaahahAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH♥-”

“Tsse-hee-hee-hee! Wow! It tastes- it's sweet!”

“-mmmMMMmmuuughaaaaaaaannngh. ...Mah-hah-hmm-m-my turn, Keimi.”

“Wha- waaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH-”

 

Watch for every moment every shudder every twitch and quiver the sheen of sweat over her skin the twitch of her fins the flicker of her tongue against her lips as I touch and feel and stroke and caress and discover and devour and find the puffy ring around her rosiest places and press my knobbly knuckles to it and press the blunt edges of my teeth to it to hear her squeal with pleasure-

Nuzzle and lick her tiny nubbin of clitoris and she coos and sighs and squeaks and shivers all through her thighs-

My hair is plastered to my head from the water and Keimi is a quivering pile of jelly limbs and twitching fingers and very sensitive toes propped up on the kitchen counter and when I press my face between her legs and rub my soft cheek against her thigh she squeals and moans overwhelming and I know that doing like this to the clitoris is the same in principle to a blowjob and Mab explained that thoroughly let’s see how she feels about it-

Keimi’s screams briefly become deafening and so overwhelmingly joyful that I have to giggle into her, which just makes her orgasm more intense. She started giggling again, and then I started giggle snorting, and then we were laughing so hard we couldn’t see each other until I opened my eyes again and Keimi was smiling in my arms and I kissed her again and-

Fold ourselves together in water and air; Keimi cries when I kiss her thighs, squeals when I kiss and lick her toes. Keimi moans when I kiss her flowering places, the warm green-furred nest of her vagina; she screams when I suckle the shaft and swirl the tip of my tongue against her clitoris.

Her orgasmic ooze is throat-slime clear and slightly sour, like bread dough leavening.

The room stinks of cherries and peaches and metal and snow. (We bloomed many times together before the Soulwave.)

We tangled together, our legs interwoven and her soft sobs and whimpers soothing to gentle moans of pleasure because Mab-mama doesn’t believe in fumbling around, and she had diagrams, and Robin had lots of recommendations, and so did Sanji even if he did blush a lot while explaining it to me over bread dough. Keimi is sensitive and squirmy and has a thigh grip like a vice.

She digs her fingers into the feathers and muscles in my wings and the sensation is warm and boiling blood burning and sharp hot wet stinking of sour sweetness the shuddering and whining and the sweetened taste of salty water suckled directly from her skin the sharp whining and howling and cackling and giggling and screams please please _please, please me-_

 

And then the whole of the World turns to bright, bright light; so good it almost hurts so I want more and I want it to stop and then it popped like my ears after swimming in the ocean and a cresting wave of calm light washed over me and through the very base of my spine, up through my vagina and then up higher below my belly button and through my heart, my throat, a huge enormous hot pressure like squeezing my face into a pillow like pressing my forehead onto the hot side of the fridge pressing pressing right between my eyes and then as the cresting wave of light of blinding wondrous light pressed between the eyes in my head and Keimi was riding the great wave of light too and the light the light the light the light overwhelming-

exploded-

from the tops of our heads-

and burned stars into our souls.

 

Together, we leapt into the abyss beyond time and space and everything in the World and all of Creation.

 

Upon our return, both Keimi and I were ourselves once more- and yet, we were wholly changed.

 

 

 

Tangled up and rubbing and sighing in pleasure; we sleep as we joined, as we leapt beyond the World: together.

 

Keimi drunk the second potion in the morning and her tail returned to her; and then she and I squirmed and giggled together again. Mermaid tails are slippery and good and very strong and Keimi is _very very_ strong and warm and slimey when she comes undone.

 

(As I would learn later, all Seafolk have human standard reproduction organs- however, both males and females have their organs internal to the body, as this reduces drag in the water.

Female Seafolk have human-standard internal reproductive organs; however the vagina is slightly shorter than the World Average, and the common urogenital opening- sometimes, incorrectly, referred to as the cloaca (as it is the urethra that merges with the vaginal canal near the opening, not the urethra and anus) -is at the front. The vaginal opening in a Seafolk can stretch as much as any other human vaginal opening; and Mermaid and Fishwoman babies are born live (as opposed to hatched from eggs). Seafolk _are not_ fish; they are mammals, the same as any other Human Tribe.

The clitoris (which is usually the same color as the tail, although it varies from person to person) rings the urogenital opening and engorges when stimulated directly and when the Seafolk who has it is experiencing ovulation. Clitoral tissue distribution and sensitivity varies on an individual basis, but usually the majority of the most sensitive tissue encircles the entire first third of the vaginal canal, with less sensitive tissue surrounding the entirety of the vaginal canal to some degree. Clitoral tissue can be found on the outer surface of the cervix as well. Some Seafolk find direct stimulation of the clitoral tissue on their outer cervix to be painful; generally, light to heavy pressure is preferred as a means of stimulation. The so-called “sweet spot” or "g-spot" in Female Seafolk is usually a higher concentration of clitoral tissue in areas outside the urogenital opening and first third of the vagina (although, as the g-spot is not well defined or understood...)

Mermaid vaginas are slightly shallower in depth than other human vaginas (since Merman penises are generally on the smaller side of the human average), so they tend to be more sexually exciting to most human males. However, it’s generally much harder for a human male of a differing tribe to impregnate a Female Seafolk, due to the differences in ejaculate; the best way to do this is usually some kind of marathon-fornication session, with multiple ejaculations.

 

Male Seafolk have human-standard penises, testicles, and so on; but, due to the requirements of underwater living, these organs and body parts are internal to their body. The penis is on the shorter and narrower side of the human average for penis size and shape, and the male urogenital opening shares superficial similarities with the female. The penile opening in a Seafolk does not stretch all that much naturally, being a pouch from which sex organs emerge during fornication and intercourse (and not a brooding pouch at all). Merman and Fishman fertility rates are equivalent to the other Tribes rates; however, due to their native environment, their ejaculate is much thicker and stickier than the other tribes, and tends to maintain cohesion as a semi-liquid gel for much longer.

The penile spines and papules are heavily innervated, and ring the penile opening, similarly to the female clitoris. They can be single pointed structures, complex structures with two or three points per spine, or simple papules- not unlike warts, though they are not so large (usually the size of an ingrown hair). There can be only a single structure type present or a mixture of structure types present on the Male Seafolk urogenital opening and genitalia. The penile spines and-or papules are heavily concentrated around the urogenital opening, on the tip and first third of the shaft of the penis, and at the base of the penis (usually the last third). The exact layout of the penile spines and papules is unique to each Male Seafolk, though certain patterns and structure ratios do tend to run in families.

The testicles, prostate, seminal vesicles, penis, and bladder are all internal; however, in Seafolk, the bladder and urethra are completely separate from the penis and spermatic canal. The testicles of Seafolk are located much closer to the surface of the skin than in other marine mammals. They have a very high blood flow, tend to sweat most heavily in that area of the body, and require a temperature slightly lower than the rest of the body for proper function. Pubescent and pubertizing Male Seafolk will rub ice or mentholated skin products on their lower stomachs to relieve the so-called “Iktch”. (Apparently, it feels nice.) They are located just posterior to the bladder, and enlarge during puberty. The Seafolk prostate gland is much larger than in the other Tribes (as it creates a much more chemically complicated fluid for sperm dispersal), and is located close to the anterior area of the lower stomach, in the same general area as the pelvis. It is analogous to a uterus in that regard, and it can be stimulated with gentle massage, light tapping, mentholated skin products, and vibration. (Apparently, this feels _really_ nice, but can become overwhelming quickly.)

 

The anus is below (and sometimes anterior to) the urogenital opening in all genders of Seafolk, and tends to not be involved in any acts of sexuality; any kind of insertion into the anus can lead, very easily, to infection. Thus, most Seafolk avoid it entirely, though there are exceptions and deviants in every Tribe and population. Due to the overall shape and structure of the genitals of Seafolk, homosexual and intersexed relationships are generally easily managed in terms of physicality.

Most Seafolk clitorises can be stimulated with smooth stimulation via another clitoris or vagina, and various toys, of course, exist; and of course, all the normal kinds of foreplay and sex action that a heterosexual partnership would use can be used by homosexual or intersexed partnerships. Similarly, most Seafolk penile pouches can be trained to accept the entrance of external penises, and most men can reach orgasm with stimulation of their penile spines and papules, regardless of what that stimulation specifically is. Toys and different kinds of foreplay are also applicable- however, most forms of oral stimulation are a little more dangerous than would otherwise be expected, especially if penile spines of any amount are present.

Don't get Deepthroat-rash, kids.

-oh, and as far as fornication goes; it's easier for a Male Seafolk to impregnate a member of another Tribe, than it is for a Female Seafolk to be impregnated by a member of another Tribe. That's just the way it is, I didn't make the rules... With that said- really, it only takes once at the right time to get someone pregnant. Condoms are your friends, and yes- they do make them in your size.

And, also- YES, **ALL** of the STDs are inter-tribally communicable, except for genital lice- no hair on Seafolk genitalia, you see.)

 

 

 

There is a man named Duval, and Keimi had business with him; I waited outside the hangout of the 'Rosy Life Riders' the morning after Keimi and I leapt Beyond while she and him had Words. Loud, violent Words.

How violent?

As punctuation to her argument, Keimi threw Duval through a transom window; his face bounced off the pavement stones, and blood splattered from his broken nose like a red faucet turned to 'spume'.

She walked out after him, shit-kicking boots thumping into the ground, hands split open across the knuckles and a thunderous scowl across her face and-

 

“DUVAL, MY PATIENCE IS AT AN END; YOUR EXCUSES DO NOT PASS MUSTER. IF YOU DON’T WANT ME TO KILL YOU FOR WHAT YOU DID, WELL- I’VE TOLD YOU MY EXPECTATIONS. HOP TO IT, **IRON MASK**.”

“-gnngh-” groans he.

“ **_DUVAL._ ** ”

“-Yes, Boss! Okay- okay, fine, I’m on it. Ow. ...You really broke my nose, Kei.” says Duval.

“Good; you really won’t look much like [that poster](http://vignette2.wikia.nocookie.net/onepiece/images/d/db/Sanji%27s_Wanted_Poster.png/revision/latest?cb=20130210030218) now, will you?”

“Hah.” laughs Duval.

“...thank’s for not killing my Uncle.”

“Sure, boss. -I’ll get right on it.” says Duval, rubbing the back of his head.

 

I get it- if it appears that Hachiman was involved in Keimi’s business, he couldn’t have the quiet life he has now. So, Keimi Took Steps.

 

 

 

We left for Thousand Sunny; quiet, and grim.

 

On the Sunny, I gathered things I might need; changed my clothes to fit more with [ Keimi’s](https://gyazo.com/afb04e6d63675a20774fda0e3689ee8b). Her eyes are ringed with octopus-glaze, her lips painted the same unwavering black; her hair is swept back and up and coiffed. A scar I did kiss upon our evening’s pleasure is left visible in the air, an accentuated marking upon her fair brow. Green and black and dull-blood red, a water-pistol in her hand and soldiers boots on her feet. Skeletons on her legs and the shortest shorts that ever did grasp upon her peachy skin, her generous sweet meats. So very sweet.

As for myself- lessons from Mab-mama and Sanji-pops; unbroken patches of anything are more noticeable than broken up pieces. Kuma and Mr. Ray know what I look like- more or less- now. A change is in order. Stripes and patches; a dress Mab-mama was going to fix, maybe, and flats that fit just so. Gloves, the fingertips cut away; and I’m a cherubim, so the war-marks are allowed. I don’t look like Keimi, I look like… [ I don’t know what I look like](https://gyazo.com/38a09db8929a7a883f667fceb859f0ec). A clown maybe? A ninja?

My sword is at my hip; I’ve changed the tassel out from Mab-mama’s brown, to the sword’s own green. Her, to her own green.

She- the Sword- she told me which color to use: [green as summer](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/32/14/ee/3214ee26a5d81b2309d9da978e0470ac.jpg). Mab-mama has a whole drawer full of tassels good for using with a sword. I’ve been talking with her- the Sword- she says her name was the first of the Great Swords, the Grass Cutter- whatever that means. Kusanagi?

Says she was once called '[Kusanagi](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kusanagi) the [Valorous](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Courage), the Sword of Fortitude'; whatever **_that_** means. Says her Name is still her Name; and I said to her 'of course it is- you can only be yourself, Kusa-chan. You are the only you there's ever been.'

And she laughed, but it was bittersweet- ah, nostalgic. Happy, and sad, too.

(Like when Su-mama told me to stay with Mab-mama, and I weren't never gon' see her again, nor my brothers or sisters; she said that the hunting would be better, and there would be foxes I weren't relations to; she said if I went, I would never be a useless pet, like her. Said I was to be smart, and brave, and the best I could be- said I was to be like our ancestor, the Wind-fox, He who Came From the West, Where the Long-grass Grows.

Said we'd meet again, in sunlit fields, where the long-grass grows.)

 

* * *

 

 

Su-mama's Song of the People is thus:

 

 

 

> _From plain-lands, over fen and field, where the long grass grows; the Fox-wind comes stalking, and around the den he goes._
> 
> _'What news from the West, O creeping wind, do you bring to me tonight? Have you seen our Wayward One by moon or by starlight?'_
> 
> _'I saw her run over four wide Lands, over earth Verdant and grey. I saw her walk through empty lands, until she passed away: Into the Shadow of the World! -I saw her then no more… The Bear-wind may have heard the Call of the One who is still Yours.'_
> 
> _'O daughter mine! From the tree-tower, Westward I looked afar; but you came not from the greenest Lands where our People are.'_
> 
>  
> 
> _From broad valleys by the Sea the Bird-wind flies; over inlets and the stones. She’s wailing-! with the news she sings, and at the glade she Moans._
> 
> _'What news from the South, O weeping wind, do you bring to me at eve? Where now is my own Wayward One? She tarries, and I grieve.'_
> 
> _'Ask not of me where she did flee - so many bones there lie- on the white shores and in the tall hills; under the storming Sky. So many have taken the Mirrur-road to find the flowing Sea… Ask of the Bear-wind news of them the Bear-wind sends to me!'_
> 
> _'O daughter mine! Beyond the glade, Mirrurmaer runs South; but you came not on the silent road from the dark Sea's mouth.'_
> 
>  
> 
> _From wild moor the Horse-wind runs, o’er strange unchanging hills. Her nose and mouth now soaked with blood from Knowledge, Rage, and Fear!_
> 
> _‘What news from the East, O frantic wind, do you bring for me at dawn? Heard you of my own Wayward One? What horrors spur you on?’_
> 
> _‘-I heard her Call from fen and glade; from heath-hill, and from stone! I heard her Call the Hounds that Hunt, to lead them from her home! From marsh and valley, moor and hill- I heard her Call no more… Ask of the Bear-wind news of her, for I dare say no more!’_
> 
> _'O daughter mine! Your blood is spilt! Eastward I turn my gaze; but you came not beside her what heard you cry -and for you, ran away.'_
> 
>  
> 
> _From the Mountain of Queens the Bear-wind strides; past the black'ning falls! His form is clear and cold about the tower-tree and his loud roar Calls!_
> 
> _'What news from the North, O mighty wind, do you bring to me today? What news of my own Wayward One? For she is long away.'_
> 
> _'...In a hidden glen I heard her Cry; there many Hounds she fought. Her thick strong fur, her sharp white fangs; they to the Lakeshore brought. Her heart so Proud, her limbs so fair- her Heart torn from her chest. And Mirrur, silent Mirrurmaer, bore her upon it’s breast.'_
> 
> _'O daughter mine! Your mother’s eyes shall ever Northward gaze: to Mirrur, silent Mirrurmaer, until the end of days.'_

 

It's only now that I have laid with Keimi and leapt beyond the World that I Know what it means.

Su-mama knew my Fate before I did.

Ah, the song is Nostalgic too.

 

* * *

 

Kusanagi says she cut blades down like they were grass, which is why she was called the Grass Cutting sword in Wano; says she got stolen, then was lost and found enough times to forget everything- but I reminded her of her first wielder, the one who cut blades down in service to their beloved- Kusanagi, who slew the Eight Swords of Orochi; Kusanagi, who was made by the swordsmith, Kushina.

Kusanagi, for all the- legend, maybe? About her? She’s a very simple sword- double edged, in the old Skuan style; just a jian, nothing fancy. The blade itself glistens green in the light, but that’s just a product of many, many years of polishing. Each part of the sword has been replaced; tip to tang, hilt to scabbard. And yet- and yet- is it not the true Kusanagi? Of course; her spirit resides in her body still, and… and Wado Ichimonji is still Wado Ichimonji, no matter how many times her handle needs to be rewrapped, or her scabbard fixed, or- anyway.

I take the [sword belt](https://sc01.alicdn.com/kf/HTB1p__HKFXXXXbgXVXXq6xXFXXXq/BRITISH-ARMY-INFANTRY-WARRANT-CLASS-II-SWORD.jpg) Mab-mama made for me; the  _sageo_ Zoro-sensei taught me to use just... isn't right. I'll keep the string knotted around my scabbard as a mark of respect to him, and in case I need to jump without using a Spell- but I don't intend to fight with the _Santoryu,_ or any style of sword-fighting. I take the luck-stone Zoro-sensei gave me and knot it into the tassel; tie the tassel to the sword. Kusanagi is [ready](https://i2.wp.com/internalwudangstore.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/05/11-Tai-Chi-Jian-Tassel.jpg?fit=300%2C300), and so am I.

 

I feel like I’ve missed something really important about my sword.

I’m sure it’ll become clear eventually.

 

 

 

“What was that about, with… Duval?”

“Hmm? Oh! Well- it occurred to me that it’d be a bit irresponsible to run off without having someone keeping an eye on the bar, and by extension, y’all’s ship. Um- Duval’s a courier, and he got his start by trying to bodyguard me during my work for my uncle. The bar actually delivers all the way out to Water 7 and all the islands connected to the Sea-train line there-”

“Oh, _wow.”_

“So, yeah. I’m in charge of a bunch of… like a vice admiral, but instead of pirates or marines- Traders, I guess you’d call them. Merchants. Division Commander, maybe? I- I’d be public about my alliance with Trafalgar Lami, Perona Clyde, and my cousin, Moda, but I’ve been too young for a while.”

“Oh. Oh! So that’s why Duval shot your-”

“Yeah. I don’t want him involved- he’s retired, and I don’t want him… So, yeah; I can actually handle myself- but, well. Mister Ray and Miss Shakky bought into the cover story. I guess my Uncle knows, but we’ve never talked about it, and me and my Crew really didn’t want to disabuse any of them of the notion of my innocence before it was time...”

“-Sure.”

“And besides- I really did have a good time with you; that really was a spectacular first date, no matter how it ended. I... I'm not interested in a long-term relationship right now, but... I'm really glad _**you**_ were my first time. And- And however things work out, y’all’s Sunny’ll be kept safe while we’re gone, okay?”

“Okay. -Thank you, Keimi.”

And I kissed her soft as the cool rain that started to fall. The taste was soft and warm and bittersweet; like nostalgia.

That was the second-to-last time I ever kissed "Full Throttle" Keimi, Fourth Division Commander of the Freebird Service Pirates.

 

 

 

I can work Sunny’s dock system by myself; it’s not hard to use, if you know how. Keimi takes the refitted skimmer out of the 2 dock; once Franky understood how it worked, there was no stopping him from improving one of the skimmers. She’s called Shearwing; small, fast, light, and hard to see against the ocean. [ Two seats](http://www.fibroinnovations.org/wp-content/uploads/2015/10/comfortable-hammock-chair-garden-patio-lawn-hammock-stand-sitting-hammock.jpg), saphire glass wind screen, super-fast heavy thrust push. Like our coup-de-burst, but… not quite. [ Faster, smaller, harder](http://d2rormqr1qwzpz.cloudfront.net/photos/2012/12/18/42668-red.jpg). Still bright pink; but there’s something distinctly buglike about it.

 

Keimi ensured someone would look after our ship; and considering everything… I think I trust women to get things done more than I trust men to. Sanji’s cool; Mab Gets Shit Done. So, in this- I trust Keimi. I hand an extra pair of goggles and ear protection off to Keimi, run through the final checks to ensure that, yes, really- we’re ready to go. Belt us both in.

 

I look at her. She looks at me.

 

“It’s a bit more than three days to Marineford, going by the top speed on your readout there-” says Keimi.

“-Yis. Maybe get there by ten of the clock chimes? Knowing the fucking Bluebeaks, we’ve got three days at most to get in position to spirit Ace away, or support my crew, whichever makes the most sense, because once you catch your prey you **kill** it- makes no sense for them to draw out Ace’s execution, now that they’ve announced it. They’ll want to broadcast their “victory” across the world… but that’ll let my crewmates help us out. Here- this is the bigset, mine’s the smaller-”

“Nice! I haven’t seen these kind of snail-phones often; these are really nice, too. ...why do you have two?”

“I’m- hard on equipment. We’ll have some technical support, though; once we get there. Our mission- get to Marineford, sneak to where they’re keeping Ace, and get him out before they manage to kill him. I expect we’ll have less time than we’ll want to get everything done.”

“Probably. -I’ve got ten days of supplies- provisions, you know- we’ve got three different Eternal Poses so we can come back if we get lost, it’s almost noon, and we’re both wearing goggles.”

“Let’s hit it.”

 

I nod- she nods. Press a hot kiss to her mouth- she sighs with pleasure. Goggles on; phone set up and ready, engine on. Keimi sets the heading; we take off before either of us can change our minds. (Bubbler leaps out into the water with me, and I take a last moment to explain what I’m doing and what I need her to do- she whines a little, but then scrabbles back up the side of the ship. Good girl; best dog.)

Hang on, guys. We’re coming.

 

* * *

 

 

Somewhere, under the Sea, a man made of Rubber is about to break into, and then out of, the Worst Jail.

So far, in the History of the World, there has never been anyone quite crazy enough to break _into_ Impel Down- or there has been, they just ain’t had a need to until now.

 

There’s always one in every Generation, however- one who’s crazy enough to do goddamn _anything_.

 

The Generation’s Crazy Fucker.

(Will they stick their dick in that hole? **_Yes they will_ ** **,** and get it **pregnant** , too.)

 

This Generation’s is called Monkey D. Luffy.

He’s going to be King of Pirates.

 

 

 

People think the Last Generation’s Crazy Fucker was Gol D. Roger; but no. Roger was Charismatic, Strong, Knowledgeable; a Dreamer to be sure… but no, my son. He was not the Crazy Fucker.

Other, more knowledgeable people think that Harriet “Harry” Morgan is the Crazy Fucker; cool idea, still wrong. Morgan is Charismatic, Strong, Knowledgeable; a Dutiful woman who went crazy when her Oaths tore her mind apart. No, sweet child. Harry Morgan ain’t the Crazy Fucker.

 

Last Generation’s Crazy Fucker was Portgas D. Rouge.

She had no Charisma to speak of- not the stuff of legend, that makes whole countries follow one man or woman to the very depths of hell and back. She had the smaller kind, the stuff that makes a good kind of friend or a rival you can’t help but admire even as you hate their rotten guts or an enemy who is noble and truly villainous in a hilariously storybook way or maybe a lover you never forget, their scent still locked in the back of your mind and every now and again the smell of lilacs and ink will send you weeping so as to frighten your children- the kind of person who stabs themselves so deeply into your heart, to be without them is it’s own kind of hellish agony.

She was mercurial, cruel, careless- neither soft nor quiet. Beautiful, cunning, fierce, vicious- aye, of Rouge it could be said: she had Strength and Knowledge in spades.

If Roger was the Sailor, and Morgan was the Ship; Rouge was the Sea.

 

Nothing cares quite as much- or so little- as the Sea.

And the only reason- the _only_ fucking reason she didn’t become the Pirate King herself, is because **_Rouge didn’t want the damn throne._ **

 

The only people who knew that for sure though, are either old as balls- and thus have seen Crazy Fuckers come and go like wind and rain; are now crazy themselves- and thus in no real place to cast aspersions of sanity, or the lack thereof; or, crucially, are fucking dead as a goddamn doornail- not that such things have stopped Crazy Fuckers in the past, but all the people who could have talked candidly on the Last Generation’s Crazy Fucker are fucking dead. And Rouge is never coming back.

 

...She was the kind of person who you fall in love with, to your eventual ruin; you raise their children and look them in the eye and tell them to their face “yes of course Rouge loved you” but that’s a damn lie and you know it. And then, they ask your Grandmother and she tells them- her- the Truth and it’s inescapable, you can’t back out of it-

Portgas D. “Heartbreaker” Rouge. Death doesn’t discriminate between sinners and saints- it just takes and it takes and it takes; history obliterates, erases the cusses in the scripture and the people behind legends and makes glaring light of every mistake- and of the three who were such central figures in my life, the one who survived…

They may have been the first ones to die but Morgan paid for it.

She survived to raise their children, and she paid for it.

 

Harry Morgan survived the death of her husband and her wife- her best friends, the only people she could talk to about the other, the only people who ever... and by God, she paid for it.

 

Now, she’s a Villain in History; and she was too young to see Rouge for what she was.

Hell’s bells, Harry Morgan _should have_ married Ravelle- but the one she _asked_ was Rouge. Identical twins, you know.

And Rouge said yes, more’s the pity.

Rouge made Morgan swear to never take her own life; and so, though she longs desperately to die, to end- she can’t do it herself. I love my Mother- I do.

And so I will be the dutiful daughter I have always been, and help my Mother.

Tchach, I’m- I’m getting melancholy. Let me speak no more of this for a time- there’s other things to attend to. This story will keep.

 

* * *

 

And so the War of the Paramount begins with the Straw Hat Pirates scattered to the winds. The Crew as a whole was utterly defeated at the Start of the War. However, individual members of the crew were able to accept their loss in the first battle and returned to the War, making the decision to help their Captain and Sewing Professional save their Brother from execution.


	23. Setting the Stage; Finale Approaches

I’m sure they’re fine.

 

Fold up the drop cloth with the hanky and pitch it directly to the dirty laundry, flick and drop the shit into the sea, load the washer with soap, turn the washer on; good deal. Placentae got tossed into the Sea as tithe for the sake of tradition; also, to placate Sea-spirits. Okay, Moda.

 

(Noticed Bryony rummaging for money and left a fat stack right on the table for her; best not to make Nami angry at a distance. She _broods_ and it makes everything smell like ozone. Noticed Taffy changing her sword’s tassel; so it’s like that, then. Interesting.)

 

Babies were daubed with seawater; blessed by Lami, who took Oaths as a Nun and so knows all the particulars. No oath of chastity- merely Piety, Honor, Strength, Humility, and Courage. (And the Kung Fu, of course- she might say she joined her faith because the kung fu should have made her hands… bigger. Lami may pretend to hate the world, but she is betrayed by her own actions, which do much to bring beauty and love to the world. Lami is gentler than she likes to let on. Like, if she ever got pregnant, she’d have the baby and love them too; she’s… under her rage, under her scowl, under her sneering mask there beats a heart of warm and gentle. And she's a pervert.)

I got to reswaddle all those babies, after I taught Moda how to put their diapers on, clip their nails, and use the [ degunking bulb ](https://www.typenex.com/images/visibulb.jpg)\- it has a real name but blow me down if I recall it now- and it’s one of the nice clear ones so she can see if there’s crap in it or what. They also now have little fish-tail hats on their still soft heads, and it’s adorable.

(The specific style I used is called the Mermaid’s Purse, but I never really… I used to know why, but I don’t anymore. Ah well- it’s enough that the receiving blankets are Seafolk standard and that Moda was able to pick up the movements she needed to use by the second baby- Myra.)

 

Whitebeard is holding one of Moda’s babies- Guppy- and grinning. His smile is genuine, I can tell because of his Shadow; and he looks on at the other two with Moda with a very real and very deep affection. Moda, to her credit, allows his glances; but her very quiet “No, I will not join your crew.” when he asked was enough to make all the bones in my body tingle with that funny ‘there’s a-gonna be a fight’ feeling. As far as I can tell, the only reason Moda’s bounty is as low as it is? She was heavily pregnant when she gained her notoriety; because, of all my old schoolmates, Moda’s the one we all knew would end up doing something… amazing.

(You can find a Crazy Fucker in every place there are enough people, after all.)

Moda let Whitebeard hold each of the babies; took pictures with her little Vision Dial- oh, one of the InstaPrint models; as the pictures get spit out of the camera, Whitebeard’s grin gets wider and more giddy. He’s settled back onto his convalescing chair now, with Guppy still in his arms. I think he’s also crying a bit, his eyes are very shiny. Moda took a moment to very carefully write out the names- and other Important information- onto the backs of the photos, and then she handed them off to Marco in lieu of a baby.

Moda’s nursed Guppy once, and is making an effort to stay within a metre of Whitebeard so Guppy doesn’t get scared and start crying. He’s still spitting out the birthing waters- amniotic fluid, phlegm, and so on- so he’ll be wanting to nurse again soon. Moda’ll have an instinct for that.

Marco, the guy who looks like[ a particularly sleepy pineapple ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/5a/08/d7/5a08d7335a4cf5e3afd203351c0670ba.jpg), has so far refused to hold any of the babies. Let me just-

 

“You do realize, of course, that you can hold it over your little brother for _ever_ , right?”

“Huh?”

“That you were present for his children’s births, **_and_ ** that you held them before he did. -You can hold that over him for the rest of your lives, actually. But only if you actually hold them…?”

“Oh. Uh. ...Aren’t they kinda… breakable, yoi?”

“It’s not like you’ll drop them- for one thing, Moda will tear an eye out if you do- but… honestly, it’s fine. You don’t have to, but you might like to.”

“Uh. M-maybe later?”

“Alright.”

 

Lami, being a Known, and Honorable, Doctor, reattached Whitebeard’s various tubes and bobbles and dongles for him. Moda also named Lami the triplet’s godmother, and had me preside as executor- which I was happy to do. I’ll have to make quilts for them- aaaah, I’ve got nieces and a nephew now aaaah.

Calm! I am calm no I’m not this is the best, worst, best day ever. They have tiny legs and tiny hands and tiny beautiful faces and AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH. And- and if my heart hurt like I was dying, like- like it turned green and was devouring itself alive, well… Well. It’s- having complicated, contradictory emotions is something that’s present throughout life; it’s only when you become an adult that you’re also cognizant of having them- that you recognize having those complicated emotions as you have them. So I’m- [ I’m feeling happy, and sad. ](https://youtu.be/Mog57_TBWlU?t=1m)

Because- I grew up with Moda. I remember- all kinds of things. She’s about twenty-seven, I think- I think she was seven years old when I was born. But- of all my friends, I think I was the most… mature? I’m pretty sure I’ve always been an old lady trapped in a young girl’s body, more or less.

Like I thought before- I’m the MILF friend. It’s who I am.

It’s me.

I’m happy for Moda and her kids; I’m sad for me, and mine. And above all- I don’t need to choose between the two feelings, because they’re both there.

And holding a baby in one arm is… oh god she’s so small, Theodora is so tiny.

I- I think I understand why Mom got so angry at Mother when I told her what She was doing to Spadey. I- a lot of things are starting to make sense… like. Like why, when I swore I’d kill Morgan for her actions against Spadey- Mom didn’t stop me. Mom got me a spear, taught me to use it- I mastered it with help from Granuna and Danelphe and eventually on my own- remembered it’s feeling in my own two hands After- but it was Mom who said- ‘Yes. Go and do this thing.’

To hold a baby and watch it grow and then bring upon it such _harm-_ no, it is unnatural. Morgan is- unnatural.

She has become an Unnatural Monster; and Unnatural Monsters, for the good of the World, must die.

 

 

I’m sharing my[ fish and almonds ](http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pqrQDrwPkE/THn_2QR2BdI/AAAAAAAAJP4/QaZHiGzaBDc/s1600/fish-almonds-detail.jpg) with Shanks, who has downed at least three more giant shots of booze. I’m considering very carefully if I want to pull out _that_ stuff.

Hm. Hmmmmm. Hmmmm?

Eh, fuck it.

I open my purse, dig down deep- no, not the bottle of hotsauce (peppers, vinegar, and salt; crush the peppers, pour salt on them, and cover with vinegar then seal the jar and leave it somewhere unobtrusive)- aha, there it is-

 

And then I pull out Granuna’s Suicider Rum. -Ah, so _that’s_ it’s proper Name. I remember, now...

 

“Uh- hey, what is that?”

“It’s my Granuna’s Suicider Rum. You want some?”

“Hell yeah I do!”

“Alright- um, it has to be served in wooden cups, on account of what it does to metal and glass-”

“Uh-”

“Yeah, hang on.”

 

Shanks is already starting to regret his decision and I haven’t even opened the bottle yet.

I pull out a bottle of goat’s milk and a wooden martini shaker. I pull out Lami Moda Whitebeard Marco Shanks Me six mugs and mix milk and rum together. Shake shake shake- toss catch shake shake shake toss flip pour two three four five six.

I hand a demitasse sized wooden mug filled with the horrible booze cut with milk around to everyone.

Lami slugs it back and then immediately regrets it.

I slug mine and smile.

Moda drinks half of hers then gestures for the milk- I pass it over to her, and she pours quite a bit more into it.

She also trades Whitebeard her child for the booze I pass in his general direction; he drinks his and grins even more broadly. -I guess he recognizes the taste?

Marco drinks his and immediately bursts into cool blue flames, coughing and wheezing with pain. Suffer. Suffer the Suicider Rum.

 

Whoa, hi, hello-

“You okay?”

“What the- _hic-_ what hell kind of booze was that?”

“Granuna calls it rum, but I’m pretty sure it’s just paint thinner with cough syrup in it-”

“No, it was too awful going down, that was drain cleaner-”

“Right, so- I guess it’s basically a super-strong fermented sugar syrup mixed with a bunch of herbs and spices, and it’s a hundred percent all natural but… I mean, opium is all natural too, so. -I don’t know what’s in this, I don’t want to know what’s in this, and frankly I don’t want to drink more of it than I absolutely have to. Do you really need to lean that much on me, or-?”

_“Wheee-”_

“So he’s drunk now, I think.”

“Gurarararara! Yeah, that little brat’s drunk.”

“So- what, the conversation we interrupted was about…?” says Lami.

“Ace. My son’s searching out Blackbeard-”

“Oh right, that.” says Lami.

“Mm- weren’t they about to execute him? That’s why I was near Sabaody at all-” says Moda.

 

At her question, my coat slides down from around my shoulders, my wings snapping wide.

The World fades out.

The Shadow of the great Web speaks through me- I am not there.

 

_“In six weeks time, or thereabouts, the Marines will-_

_Ever seeking the last drop_

_Of the old King’s blood-_

_Attempt to have my kinsman Slain._

 

_I will not allow such to pass-_

_The Marines vouchsafe a wasteland;_

_Their pride and high-born Masters would break_

_The ancient covenant that keep-safes the dignity_

_And the freedom of all who would live._

 

_A storm comes; it will scour the World and bring_

_In bereaved hearts, in merry waves, in roaring seas-”_

And then I sneezed really, really hard.

 

“-Augh! Um. ...Was- Was I saying something? My mouth’s dry like I said something...” I say.

“So, that was a Prophecy- calm down, Moda, you know she can’t help it.” says Lami.

“I made a Prophecy? But I didn’t hear anything- shit, maybe I did...” I protest, before I remember.

“No, I heard it too, as did Whitebeard- look, you scared the drunk out of Shanks-” says Lami.

 

I look over at Shanks. He’s pale, shaking, and very definitely sober- like a bolt of the supernatural just shocked the drunk right out of him. He’s also holding- oh Theodora! Oh no, oh no- maybe I did just make a real Prophecy.

That’s the only reason I would _ever_ drop a baby.

 

“Well, shit. Did anyone write it down?” I say.

“Nope. And we’re all drunk enough that we’ll forget it; you were too quiet for them over there to hear it, too.” says Lami, gesturing to Whitebeard’s crew. Ah, they’ve regained consciousness; more than half of them are still dizzy from bloodloss, but they should recover eventually.

 

“Eh. Prophecy is self-fulfilling anyway, I wouldn’t worry about it. -sorry, Moda.” I say.

“Mm. Pass the fish and nuts, yeah? -it can't be helped, it's alright.” says Moda.

 

I twist the bag shut and toss her the bar snack. I also neatly switch the booze for the milk when Shanks goes to drink it down; if he tried drinking it straight from the bottle he’d die of liver failure. Best to cork Granuna’s Suicider Rum and put it back on top of the fridge back home.

 

 

Theodora got passed back to her mother; Shanks, being one handed, can only hold a baby or drink, not both like the rest of us. Poor devil.

 

“So, anyway; sorry about that- Moda needs to go back with her crew, because I’m sure they’re going to be worried about her; Lami, I need your help for a Thing.” I say.

“What kind of a Thing, Mab?” says Lami.

“I’ll tell you when we get there.” I grit out through my wide, dangerous smile.

 

Lami nods once, very seriously. It’s a bit ruined by her giddy smirk.

 

Our ancestors have been planning this for years, so it only makes sense- but Hell’s Bells woman, pull it together.

 

“So- it doesn’t matter what kind of chat Whitebeard might want to have with the… coalition…?” I say.

“We don’t have a unifying name yet-” says Lami.

“Right, of course. It doesn’t matter, because Moda isn’t the Captain of that crew; Lami isn’t the Captain of that crew. Neither of them can make that decision in good faith.” I say.

“Really?” rumbles Whitebeard.

“Sorry dude.” “Really really.” they reply in unison.

“Hmph.” grumps Whitebeard. He’s also looking at me oddly, sort of half smiling. Like I remind him of someone?

“So- wait, who are you?” says Shanks.

“Portgas D. Mab Boudicca Tailor Morgan, Straw Hat Sewing Professional, occasional giver of Prophecy, and Scout. Chairete!” I chirp.

 

Shanks yelps.

 

“It doesn’t count, I’m not the Captain- whoops, sorry, sorry, I’ll let you come to your conclusions yourself. Inside your own head, I mean. God _damn_ , I’m _so_ ** _hungry-_** You two ready to go get some eats, or...?” I say.

“Mm. Ramen!” says Moda.

“Ramen has so much salt, though, do we really-” says Lami.

“Well I did lose a lot of blood and other fluids-” says Moda.

 

I pull my coat back over my shoulders, take the empty milk bottle from a paling Shanks, and put it in the sink back home. I stand up, brush myself off, grab Lami by the ear, and start walking away. She yelps and moves with me, and continues the ongoing bickering that has characterized her relationship with Moda for the past- god, ten, twelve years? Really?

Fuck, time sure does fly, doesn’t it.

 

“Nice to meet both of you, see you later. Onwards, oneiroi!” I say.

 

And then we three women walk out.

 

* * *

 

“Goddamn. Now _that_ was like going back in time, yoi. All of it; the Booze, the Women, the Prophecy-”

“It was, Son. It was.”

“...She sounds just like Rouge, yoi.”

“Mmm.”

“We can never, **ever** tell her that, can we?”

“-No. Best not.”

“...I’m gonna put these away before something happens to them. Treasure like this is worth protecting. -Should I send a Nurse out for Shanks?”

“That’d be best; Treasures like that are once-in-a-lifetime rare. As for _that_ Brat...?  There are very few people in the world who can drink Sewercider Rum without consequence, and he’s not one of them. Send the Nurses.”

“...And **you’re** one of those people, Pops?”

“...Have the Nurses come 'round for me, too, would you?”

“Sure, yoi.”

 

* * *

 

Moda got dropped into her base of operations- a place I know vaguely as Kaiso Forest? It’s impossible to chart, considering it’s on the broken half of Barira Reef; there’s nothing in it, as far as I recall. Just- shallow, rolling waves of shifting sandbars and seaweed and ancient dead reefs that kill ships for fun. And kelp forest.

So it’s basically exactly the kind of place Moda would set herself up in.

 

Anyway- Here’s the problem.

Legally speaking, I can’t actually set foot on Fairisle except for some very specific places at very specific times. Lami, however, _can._

During my training to become Grana Mariner, I was commissioned by the then-Queen Harriet Morgan to build two boats; one for Spadille, one for Ace.

I did, is the thing- I finished the job before taking up the helm of Grana Line. Lami was always more gregarious than I- and all I really need to do is call Aunt Zippy; so that’s the crews of the boats settled. Spadey won’t trust anyone except who Lami picks; and Ace… we’ll burn that barn when we get there.

 

“Lami- you know where the Office of the Sea is, in Fiddler’s Green?”

“Yeah...?”

“Take this letter, give it to Portgas D. Tzipporah, and no other. Once you’ve done that, you’ll need to crew a full _rivage-_ Laputa- Aunt Zippy should have recommendations if who you had in mind isn’t available. I’ll pick you up in a day’s subjective time. Take this card- it’s my calling card, tear it or cry on it when you’re ready.”

“Wait, wait- Mab, you finished it? You finished…?”

“ _Wisdom’s Parliament._ Hell yes I did.”

“...Holy fuck that name is amazing.”

“I know, right?!?”

“And the other one?”

“ _Band Party Blue._ ”

“...God dammit, I should have asked you for boat names back when we were in school-”

“Yep. -What’d you name your boat?”

“ _Hard Day’s Night._ ”

“Hey, that’s pretty good! Anyway, here- happy hunting.”

“Thanks, Mab.”

 

She takes the letter, smiles in that Trafalgar Lami way; really a baring of teeth- and then she vaults the Faeland graveyard fence, loping steadily for the train station. It only takes about an hour to get from the Tomb Hills, where I am, to the City, where Lami is going- so, before I forget.

I make a call to Aunt Zippy, explain what’s going on; ask for the Littles to come along for the ‘So Happy You’re Alive, Ace’ party, all nine of them. It's about time they meet their brothers, I say.

She says she’ll handle the rest, so long as I can manage the transportation.

I say, no problem Aunt Zippy; and also, bring the Snake Juice, it’s gonna be one of _those_ kinds of parties.

She says, alright baby girl, I’ll have Easy prep the big bottles; she’ll be quite happy to make room in her barn for her other pursuits. -Now, Yuki will handle the music and the lighting, but go easy on her, she’s having a tough time at her new school; and Jackie’s just gotten Wilder since you left- she’ll be around, but you’ll probably only see her three times at the party if at all. Atty’s headaches have gotten worse, so if you’re going up to the High Court, see if you can’t gather up some bean fruit and peanut squash; and if you’ve the time, peppermint, lavender, feverfew, butterbur, and pure water from Mirrurmaer Spring. Gabbie came into her Syreene gifts, so she won’t be singing at the party; neither will Sisko, as she’s become quite the shutterbug. She’s quite good, our Sisko, but she goes Berserk if her camera’s damaged so watch for that. Fee’s more or less the same, but I’m worried about her anyway- she’s taking the worst parts of her Job to heart and I’m not sure what to do for her. Del’s become shy in your absence; give her some encouragement, if you can. Tilly’s still quite earnest, but she’s starting to become a bit more street-wise; of you all, I worry about her the least. Ach, you’re all growing up so fast- where did the time go…? Well, nevermind that now- you go on and do what you need to, and I’ll have things ready for when you have need of them. Love you, Mava!

Love you too, Aunt Zippy.

 

When she says she’ll have things ready for me when I have need of them, I believe her- if there’s one thing you should bet on, it’s the women of the Portgas Family Getting Shit Done.

 

Besides, I have quilts to finish.

 

 

 

The [ Catacombs of Fairisle ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/f7/25/96/f72596a7143773d16b22a6f7fcab9d41.jpg) are not places most people go.

They were caves we put our corpses in, then graves, and now- well, no one's forbidden from going, that'd be like forbidding people from laughing or having babies- you could, but _why?_ No, chiefly, they're unvisited because of [ the Automata guardians ](https://youtu.be/DUpa5FhBFkA).

 

They aren't those cute little helpers in Birka, or the slaves I saw in Water 7 but made myself not-see because I don’t know how to help them and they’d only be hurt if I tried without knowing how to-

 

These Automata are from before the Fly, when Automata were built for very specific purposes and considered to be... not inherently slavish or meant for working, but purpose built. Like me; I was not meant for anything except what all Skuan Royalty is meant for, and that is- to fight and defend the People. I was not made to be soft, or quiet- and so, I am not.

A spear is not a needle; spears do not Sew. They Pierce. Though a needle may Pierce; it’s purpose is to Sew. It’s a fine distinction but it’s **there** and it **_matters_ ** because- because-

Like- like it's very obvious sometimes that Zoro was meant to wield a sword, he was born for it- nevermind his blood, it's what his _soul_ was meant to do. Like… like Nami is meant for Navigation and the Weather Arts, like Usopp is meant for Sharpshooting, like-

Like Luffy is going to be King of the Pirates.

Automata merely took the guesswork out.

 

I forget how many exactly there are out here- something like…

 

Prajapati, who guards the Great Void.

Lindura, who guards the Light.

 

Daun Portgas D. Elphame Omnifarious, who guards the Web wherein the True Mind is Formed.

Grana Mór-ríoghain Maleficent Morgan, who guards the Well wherein the True Heart is Formed.

 

Hylia, who guards the Gates at the Edge of Time.

 

Sophia, who guards the Embers of Power.

Alvis, who guards the Shards of Wisdom.

Imara, who guards the Seeds of Courage.

 

The Horse, She who Guards the Wild Moor.

The Fox, He who Guards the Empty Fen.

The Bird, She who Guards the Valley Broad.

The Bear, He who Guards the Hidden Glen.

 

And lastly- the Guardian of Mirrurmaer, the Lake of the Mountain of Queens. It’ll take me a moment to remember her name, though.

 

Anyway, I’ve defeated all of them in battle- even Granuna and Danelphe, as not all battles are physical. It was part of my Trials as mandated by the Court to prove my validity as Princess Royal of House Morgan. And I did; and I am; and so shall I ever be.

Not even Aradia can take that from me.

 

There are many paths towards what I seek; but the one that will lead most directly to where I need to go is… [ the Guardian of the Lake ](https://youtu.be/JIcp1L0uI0Y), and the path she flies.

The lake is called- is called- ah. Right.

The Lake is called Mirrurmaer; it springs from a much higher source; but to go to the spring from whence Mirrurmaer flows, proper procedure must be used..

 

Here’s what I do- out in the middle of the lake in the catacombs, there’s a row of posts. I take a cobble from the lakeshore, walk on the slightly slippery stones only just above the mirror smooth water, and climb up onto the post. **_There_ ** she is- throw the cobble. It knocks her on the side, and she looks and she sees me. She takes flight, arcing high into the air.

She wheels around, comes down towards me fast.

 

I wait.

 

And so it is that the Winged Guard, the Mighty One, [ Bearehuite ](https://youtu.be/dVNcmGjNW6c) (beh-reh-WHO-tay; say it right or don’t bother Naming her at all), comes for me.

I leap onto her wing as she passes.

Her fur is thick, coarse green like moss- Zoro has the same color, but I can’t be sure of how; her great hinged joints ring with pressure, and beneath her cold hide beats the Automatic Heart all Automata have. Her head is very much shaped like a bear’s; and her wings are clawed, like a bear’s as well. She roars and the World shakes around us both. I climb up her wing, the World howling around me as the Wind strikes my ears. Bearehuite bucks and wiggles, trying to get me to fall.

I haven’t fallen off her back since I was twelve.

 

The World howls- but I am of the Wind, and I do not howl.

 

Eventually, I guess she realizes who I am, because she shoves us both up- up, up, up into the Catacomb Thunderhead, where Granuna and Danelphe live. Lighting flashes and booms like cymbals. I leap off at my cue and roll behind a boulder before Behrehuite’s lightning breath can hit me.

Cheeky devil sends another one arcing my way before returning to her lake.

 

The trouples from the orchard gently nibble at my glasses before deciding that it’s not food, actually, and they flutter back into the green trees. I walk along the path, made of broken seashells and chunks of silver, now bright like new-smote, now black with age, until finally I come to an old elevator-bucket sitting pretty on a flattened round platform of stone. The rope is made of chain, actually, and the counterweight won’t work unless someone’s standing on the platform- and no, I don’t know how that is supposed to work.

I step into the bucket, and let the winch raise me up, up, up- through the eye of the storm, through the dark tunnel of the well, until finally- it stops.

I step out of the elevator, and take off my shoes in the mudroom.

No shoes inside the house.

I go inside my Granuna’s house. Outside, it’s an anvil shaped cloud, black and terrible, arcing into the sky in an endless tower of wrath. [ Inside? ](http://img11.deviantart.net/5674/i/2015/327/e/9/witch_house_inside_by_woollywolf-d9hqs4c.jpg) A farmhouse, homely and comforting. There's a beast pelt by the bed; the wash tub has a rug under it. The floor is wood; the walls are earthen and posts of wood, beams as wide as my thigh. Herbs hang by the woodpile; a fire burns in the hearth. Resting in her cubicle bed- my Granuna.

 

“I’ve come back, Granny.”

“I can see that, dearest Mab. The books are on the shelf- one for you, one for each of your brothers. Take a bath and a rest; food’s in the icebox. I’ll wash your clothes before you go, you’re a bit on the filthy side.”

“Granny?”

“Well, I’ve taught you all I can of Water and Vearth; and you can’t go learn the rest of Fire and Air from your Daun Elphe like that, they won’t allow it. Stickler for propriety, your Daun; damn Creole getting in the way of things. Still, you are a bit… a bit whiffy.”

“Oh. Um- sorry, I hadn’t noticed. ... I’m ready, you think?”

“Doesn’t matter if you’re ready or not; your Madam never completed her education, nor the other two, now that I think of it. -If you want to defeat Harriet “Nightmare” Morgan, truly, you must complete yours.”

“Ah. Well- oh, before I forget; Atty’s headaches have gotten worse. Can you…?”

“Ach, I told that girl to get herself quality Foci, but- Well, I suppose Jackie’s doing her best. Aye, I’ll have everything ready for you when you’re done washing. Now: hop to, babybug!”

 

I bow to the wisdom of my elders.

 

 

I carefully take all my clothing off, put it all in a stack on my Granny’s chair. The kettle is ever on the boil in my Granny’s house. I half fill the wash tub with water from Granny’s cistern.

 

There are nine purifying herbs.

Lavender purifies before a wedding and during a plague; Rosemary keeps the dead clean, and gives heavy meat a pleasing flavor; Basil gives clean mirth and fullness to wine; Jasmine cleans the water and the rice; Geranium cleans the surfaces and wards against pestilence; Coffee cleans the mind and shoos warlike urges to the side; and lastly… Woodbine cleans the spirit, renews senses, provides rest.

I anointed myself in lavender before I wed Sanji; rosemary goes well with salmon, which my husband well knows; basil is nice in tomato soup, and Floria is quite cold, and we had to do something with all those tomatoes from Water 7. Jasmine rice was in Alabasta…

 

I take a sprig of geranium leaves and a handful of woodbine flowers; the smell of lemony peppery floral-y sharpness blended with soft flowers and warm honey, there in the warmth of my hand. Take a chalice from the shelf; herbs and hot water, and let the whole thing steep. Take a wash towel, scrub down with soap-sand and cool water; rinse off with a ladle. Add hot water from the kettle, more than large enough to fill the tub and have water left over.

 

“Go ahead and splash around; I’ll go and clean these.”

“Okay.”

 

My Granny limps off to wash my clothes.

Pour in the steeped herb-water, and the scent blooms and fills the small house. I soak my head first; scrub my face and my hair and let the perfume of such flowers and leaves sink into my flesh.

 

Here’s the thing- we’ve been dealing with Fates for a long, **_long_ ** time in Skua. We’re all taught how to wash if you choose a Fate for yourself; there’s a method to it. Firstly, for every two limbs in the water, two must be outside it. If your pelvis is in the water, your head cannot be; and, cleanliness being key, the head must be washed before the pelvis. So it was that I scrubbed and rinsed and conditioned and rinsed my upper body before I ever splashed and flopped around in my Granny’s washing tub.

Water went **_everywhere_** anyway.

After splashing most of the water out, I clamber out of the tub, drip onto the rug. I dry myself off with the drying towel, squeeze the water from my hair.

Let it all dry out.

 

In the icebox, there’s a bowl of yohgurt and fresh berries. I eat them, and drink cold coffee sweetened with cream and honey. Granuna returns with a cleaned and sweet smelling jumpsuit; and my coat as never looked more fluffy. She hands them to me, along with my underwear- a lovely tigerstriped pair because Granuna inspired me and, um. Sanji likes prints. Like.

He _really_ likes prints.

I put my clothing on; let Granny do up the lacing around my neck.

Finally, as I’m putting on clean socks and freshly shined shoes, making sure my coat is closed securely, Granuna goes to put the five books into my purse.

 

“Black side, Granny. -other one, that’s just my normal purse.”

“Aha. D’you want a bottle of hotsauce before you go? -So that’s your Fate, then?”

“Aye. I’d like that very much. -I said I’d be Queen, and I meant it.”

“I’ll put a bottle in then, and Atty’s headache remedies are in with the books. Take care not to mix them up, now. Oh, yes- Your Daun Elphame is up in the attic, where they always are. Go and collect Ace Ariel’s birthday present, aye- I do believe you’re old enough to finish it off.”

“Yes, Granny. ...Love you.”

“-! Hm. Love you too, dearest girl. Off with you now, shoo, shoo!”

 

I hug my old Granuna, who laughs with surprise.

She’s warm, Granuna; just the right kind of huggable.

 

I tie a woven belt of brown and yellow- like a paper wasp- to D-rings my granny put on my bag for me, without my needing to ask. I pull my spear from the place I left it in my ship, put the headache remedies into the fridge and the books on a stack on my studio desk.

Bryony and eel skulls on the ship? No, doesn’t matter-

 

The bag goes over my shoulders, hangs over the small of my back, belts around again in front. The strap doesn’t bother my wings a whit- I could definitely fly while wearing it.

And then I climb out of my granny’s house, and onto her roof, and then- higher. Through darkness and the howling of the very air, I climb. I climb Jacob’s Ladder; I mean, there’s a stairway to this place too, but it’s much more likely to get a person killed. I think there’s also some crazy asshole [ building a bridge ](http://onepiece.wikia.com/wiki/Tequila_Wolf) to try to get to this place, which… really misses the central argument of a bridge. I mean.

We’re in the fucking Sky.

How in the goddamn fuck is that supposed to work, exactly?

 

 

The scent of ozone gives way to burnt metal and endless cold. Finally, I come to the front porch of Dana Elphame’s house. The ladder doesn’t actually reach it, though.

I have to jump.

 

 

 

[ How to describe this climb? ](https://youtu.be/SkxfgugoKL0?t=2m35s)

 

There is an image that describes the interconnectedness of all phenomena. It is called Grace's Web. When Grace fashioned the world, she made it as a web, and at every knot in the web is tied a pearl. Everything that exists, or has ever existed, every idea that can be thought about, every datum that is true—every dharma, in a language of Skuan- or is it Flevance?- philosophy—is a pearl in Grace's web. Not only is every pearl tied to every other pearl by virtue of the web on which they hang, but on the surface of every pearl is reflected every other pearl on the net. Everything that exists in Grace's web implies all else that exists.

Sometimes it’s called a loom, and the threads- well. Daun Elphame is the one who taught me to weave.

Hylia, who guards it when Danelphe must go away from it. Like, say, to family reunions. Or for booty calls.

Hey man. They’re old, not dead.

Anyway.

The egg of darkness was no such thing- it was a pearl on Grace’s web. Pandora… when she broke the egg of darkness, what she actually did was abandon her post at the Hall of the Web. And so- because the first Fairy broke her promise to keep watch over evil, Evil became unwatchable by the Web. At least- Evil itself cannot be seen in the multitude of lights.

You must look into the darkened and darkling places to see where such things exist… [ To see the web is to see the world, ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/f6/09/3b/f6093b214b5ab3ef82e2c9e0ba0a58b9.jpg) after all.

 

Web- it has many names- the wheel, the orb, the circle, the cycle. The wind? No, not the wind. What is visible is visible; and, due to ancient mistakes, evil is not. Or rather- darkness is not. It is visible by it’s absence. Anger, Fear, Sadness, Pain- these things live in darkness. Darkness- shadows, feminine, black, heavy, north, water; passivity, moon, Vearth, cold; old, even numbers, valleys, poor, soft; provider of spirit to all things. (Light- lights, masculine, white, light, south, fire; active, sun, Wind, warmth; young, odd numbers, mountains, rich, hard; provider of form to all things.)

 

There is another way to read the actions of Pandora, so long ago-

 

 

Before Pandora broke the egg of darkness, the world was only light.

Formed, but not functional.

And after, the world was balanced.

And after, the world **lived.**

 

 

( _Only at our lowest_

_Can we rise above_

_Move towards the darkness and-_

_Love~!_ )

 

(I'm profoundly unhappy with the turn of events that led to this moment. Yes, completely.)

 

A [ doorway ](http://www.thebrooknetwork.org/wp-content/uploads/2011/01/Doorway-e1293895625989.jpg) stands in an empty green field of rolling hills and hazy light. It doesn’t quite exist; but it doesn’t _not_ exist either. You have to climb through endless darkness to get to it, and- well, with no guarantee that it’s even there to be found… not many make that leap of faith beyond the calm contentment to be found in my Granuna’s House.

 

Go higher than the third eye upon your forehead and you will find a hole through which the blinding light of creation can spew. But you can’t get there by walking; you have to jump. You have to jump into the endless Sky and trust that you will fly, not fall.

 

So, I jump.

And then I land on- nevermind what it is. I landed where I meant to.

I walk forwards, and open the door to- stars in mirrors, reflecting endlessly.

The great Net; the Web; my Daun’s own Loom. I close the door behind me, and walk forwards.

Through endless darkness- light; Time is wholly out of joint.

 

Daun Elphame is seated at the Pool of Flame, in the Hall of Air and Fire. They are veiled and dressed and cool to the touch; in their arms rests the living soul of my brother, Spadille. I take it, put it in my fawn colored pouch. It’s time to end this Lie, once and for all.

As for the other matter I must yet attend to- it's a quilt, I suppose- definitely a matter of grave importance; started by Rouge and Morgan for their future children, stitched with their love and care for those yet to come. Our names are stitched in silver thread; Rouge stitched Ace’s name herself. Portgas D. Ace Ariel Morgan, right there in her spidery stitches. Daun Elphame sewed my sisters names; Morgan stitched Titania’s. She lost herself before she could finish stitching mine; and so I am Portgas D. Mab T- and it could be the start of a swirly-cued ‘B’ but it’s only a ‘T’ and nothing more. I shall add the rest of my name myself.

 

Daun Elphame hands me a needle and a strand of silver-thread.

 

* * *

 

There is a song for this, too. It goes [ thus: ](https://youtu.be/uxfoa23skHg)

 

_"The world was young, the mountains green,_

_No stain yet on the Moons were seen,_

_No words were laid on stream or stone_

_When Ariel woke and walked alone._

 

_She named the nameless hills and dells;_

_She drank from yet untasted wells;_

_She stooped and looked in Mirrurmaer,_

_And saw a crown of stars appear,_

_As gems upon a silver thread,_

_Above the Shadow of her head._

 

_The world was Fair, the mountains shy,_

_Before the People learned to fly_

_Of mighty kings in Tír na nÓg_

_And Aes Sídhe, who now beyond_

_The Final Sea have passed away:_

_The World was Fair in Ariel's Day._

 

_A queen she was on carven throne_

_In many-pillared halls of stone_

_With golden roof and silver floor,_

_And runes of power upon the door._

_The light of sun and star and moon_

_In shining lamps of crystal hewn_

_Undimmed by cloud or shade of night_

_There shone for-ever fair and bright._

 

_There hammer on the anvil smote,_

_There chisel clove, and graver wrote;_

_There forged was blade, and bound was hilt;_

_The delver mined, the mason built._

_There beryl, pearl, and opal pale,_

_And metal wrought like fishes' mail,_

_Buckler and corslet, axe and sword,_

_And shining spears were laid in hoard._

 

_Unwearied then were Ariel's folk;_

_Beneath the mountains music woke:_

_The harpers harped, the minstrels sang,_

_And at the gates the trumpets rang._

 

_The World is grey, the mountains old,_

_The forge's fire is ashen-cold;_

_No harp is wrung, no hammer falls:_

_The darkness dwells in Ariel's halls;_

_The Shadow lies upon her tomb_

_In Memoria, in fig leaf rooms._

 

_But still the ancient stars appear_

_In dark and windless Mirrurmaer!_

_There lies her crown in water deep,_

_Till Ariel wakes again from sleep._

 

 

(Eventually, the name ‘Ariel’ lost it’s gender, just became “the name of the Wind” in Skua- oh, wait. Why does that matter?

Portgas D. Ace Ariel Morgan. That's my Lost Brother's Name.

Ariel is pronounced Ah-ree-elle on the Blue Seas, and is usually a female name- but in Skua, the _Star_ Sea, it’s ARyell. Ace, likewise, is pronounced AHsh; thus, I’ve been calling my brother AHsh ARyell for a while now, in my head. Spadille is spAH-DEE-yay; and I’m MAHvvv. That’s why Spadey is **_Spadey_ ** and not Dill. It’s why I’m Mava, and not Mable- er, not anymore. Boudicca died.

As for Ace… I think he’ll be Asher, actually.

It’s little details like this that actually matter a lot to a Fae- it’s a characteristic that’s held in our blood. We Know when our names aren’t being said right, and it pisses us off- I’m speaking collectively for all Fae, here. Of all the Tribes in the World, it is the Fae Tribes which Know most keenly.

Because, see- Ace Ariel as pronounced on the Blue Seas is a brand of playing cards. Ace Ariel as said in the Star Sea is his _actual name_. And yes- even though he’s never actually heard his name said correctly, in his life, possibly ever- he still Knows when he’s being called the Wrong Name (even if he’s not conscious of it). I did.

I think **_that_ ** , more than anything else, is a minor torment that just sets the whole tone of his day; I sincerely believe he would not be so… hot-headed, if he wasn’t being minorly disrespected by literally everyone all the time.

(I let it slide, because, really- there’s a lot of fun to be had with someone who can’t even ask you how to say your own name. Or, less contrarily, I’m busy and don’t have time for little things like that.)

I dunno if he’ll answer to it, though. Ace, I mean- I dunno if he’ll answer to Ace Ariel. Or Asher, if we get that far.

 

The lake Behrehuite guards is called Mirrurmaer, and no Wind blows upon it- though it’s ever churning depths would drown a man should he touch it.

The moons are stained with the shape of Skuan civilizations.

Silver is the color of the Royal House; stars, it’s symbol.

Memoria is the ancient name of Floria; and it is said that Ariel is laid, sleeping, in that place. It’s a funny euphemism for death that never quite left- because I think she is dead, actually. Or at the very least, she’s not coming back, so it makes no difference.

  

My voice echoes through the air, commingled with the voices of all who came before me- held in echo in this place, outside of time.

 

* * *

 

I finish stitching my Name. Boudicca is the name that was chosen for me, and so I have stitched it down; but Tailor- Tailor is _my name_ , or close enough. Tailor is the name I found for myself; and so I shall keep it.

And so I am Named, and the quilt with all our names, made by Harriet “Nightmare” Morgan, and Portgas D. Amaranth “Heartbreaker” Rouge, and Portgas D. “Killer Croc” Odile Elphame- [ finished ](https://img1.etsystatic.com/000/0/6457441/il_570xN.272907345.jpg) by my hand. It’s not actually a blanket yet though- best attend to that.

-There.

Done.

 

I cut batting, stitch the quilt top to the batting to the backing; and that’s Spadey’s [ finished ](http://www.quiltingboard.com/attachments/main-f1/433427d1377987710-card-trick-purples.jpg).

I stitch the quilt top to the batting to the backing and that’s Ace’s [ done ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/9f/d3/63/9fd363da93f30a8ee5148b34dbe88645.jpg).

I finish the seams on [ mine ](https://blackmountainquilts.net/images/products/large_1369_large_dakota-star_queen-quilt_90x90_front_1200px.jpg)\- and that's it, it's done.

It’s over, isn’t it. It’s over, now.

 

I fold them up, put them in my shadow-bag; my sisters have their quilts already. Morgan was too far gone at their hatching to make them, so I did- with help from all my female Portgas relations. It was Aunt Zippy who taught me to Sew, when Mom gave me the spear; I remember now.

[ I climb into my Danelphe’s lap, and they hold me ](https://secure.static.tumblr.com/b659e2c77fac0235f3ec33af934a4dde/rhov2y9/jdVoigjfo/tumblr_static_tumblr_static_8yh7xifb7f8c0gw0w40og8s4_640.jpg).

 

All things bound to time still look strange in the light of this place- and yet...

I have lived my entire life in a house of teeth, a story without rest; suffering without reason or end- because I could not accept that my dam, my mother- Harriet “Nightmare” Morgan lost her lovers and broke her promise and lost her mind. In my Daun’s arms, at last, I can accept it for what it is.

 

“Gather your strength, dear. You will have to face the Nightmare when you leave the Star Sea.”

“I know. Will you watch for me?”

“Of course.”

 

So it came to pass that I fell into a trance for a week straight- subjectively, that is, as Danelphe’s home is On the Edge of Time, and so not subjected to its advances. During that time, I gathered a swarm that would be sufficient to blacken the sky; and I found the song I would sing.

Dreams are good for dreaming, but there comes a time when one must go out and **_do_ **.

 

 

When I came back, I was still resting in my Daun’s arms; still clean and washed and ready. And in my shadow?

 

“I’m angry.”

“Then you should do something about it, dear one.”

“Thank you, Daun Elphame. Love you.”

“-!!! Of course; I love you, dearest Portgas D. Mab Boudicca Tailor Morgan.”

 

I stepped away from my Danelphe.

My Shadow rose taller than my soul.

I left that place unchanged; I left that place, changed.

 

 

Lami called me to her and so I appeared just behind her; which scared the hell out of her.

 

“Mab-?”

“You called.”

“GAH! Oh- Oh my god what did you _ **do**_ , you look-”

 

I Looked at her.

 

“-You look fit for battle.”

 

I smiled.

 

“Ready?”

“Drop me off at Exchange Laputa after the Push; that’s where my crew is. -I actually went to the auction alone.”

“Sure- step right through, you’ll come out at United Square.”

“Thanks, Mab.”

“Sure, Lami.”

 

And she steps through to her crew. I look at my _fauna_ , Portgas D. Alberich Ravelle. He looks at me. I look at him very carefully. I realize something very important; there’s some things you only realize after you’ve grown up- or in this case, can see it right there. Ah.

 

“You’re a woman.”

“...Yes.”

“So you’re my _fenuna_.”

“-! Well... Yes.”

“Ah. I’m sorry for calling you my _fauna._ ”

“Hmhmhmhmhm. It’s alright, Mab- you’re my baby either way.”

 

I smile. I sigh.

 

“...I have to kill her.”

“I know. It’s alright.”

“It’s not, but thank you for trying to make me feel better about it, Mom. I-”

“-Oh, oh dear, come here, come here _mati mou_.”

 

I can’t stop crying. My _ouna_ Alberich- no, Ravelle, my mother-aunt, she holds me tightly, strokes my back and my wings and my hair, covers my face with her gentle kisses. I’ve got tears running out of my nose- augh.

 

After a while I’ve calmed down enough to speak again.

 

“I- I got married.”

“I can see that.”

“It’s- I married Sanji.”

“ _...He’s still_ **_alive?!_ ** ”

“Yeah, it was a bit of a shock to me, too. But- but yes, we’re both still alive. _-_ Mommy, why did you save me? Why- why am I still alive?”

“...You know the answer to that already, _to mati mou_.”

 

I do. It’s obvious, isn’t it?


	24. For my Third, and Final, Trick: I shall make an Unnatural Monster- Disappear!

So it’s a funny thing, setting out to kill a Shadow-doll and your dam and also save your brothers and your Mother and- I’m. I’m quite content to remain unknowing of what happened to my crewmates during the… sevenish days of actual time between where I waited, and the actual War of the Paramount. Now here’s an interesting thing- that War was called many things: The Lucky Seven Strike, The Battle of Three Mountains, The War of the Paramount… I always liked calling it “The War of the Best” myself. But the one that stuck was the War of the Paramount.

Names are strange.

I made a few visitations while I was unstuck in time; talked to Conis Warchief, gave her the Prophecy that I don’t Know and already Knew. I got my grown-woman’s spear from my mom, made with her own hands for me- nameless now, but I’ll Name her soon enough. Not like Gae Bolg, whose unrelenting bloodlust is the stuff of legend, now; this spear is different. Unrelenting, serene, determined, unstoppable. I shall have to think of an appropriate name.

Went to the bank and got my accounts checked and reopened; all my money is as it should be, I’ve got a new set of seals which are in fact My Own Seals, and isn’t that an interesting little niggle in the fabric of time; had to stick them into my own pocket when I was dropping into the sea, and that’s a hell of a thing to realize.

Timetravel. Not even once!

 

After I finished my errands, I had about three-ish days to wait.

 

The morning of the first day, Aunt Zippy came to see me. Mom’s forge is… it’s basically a shed with a porch, right near a river because people sometimes come to get weapons. They have to go upriver to find Mom’s forge, which can be interesting- but. I mean, of all the people who occasionally just appear, I always thought Dracule Mihawk was the weirdest; then again, Mom’s pretty weird herself, as she’s the Best Weaponsmith in the World.  

Anyway, Mom set up a hammock for me on her porch, with the mosquito netting and everything because I couldn’t legally set foot in the House for a while yet. I was sleeping, woke to the warm Faeland sun and Aunt Zippy puttering around the forge, setting down a basket of food and her tattooing supplies SHIT I FORGOT- ack!

 

“So, since you’re twenty, it’s time for your- ah, prosthetics?”

“Yes Auntie! Aaaugh, cold-”

“Mm. I’ll merge them with your woman’s marks-”

“Aah!”

“Hush up and hold still.”

“AAAAaahnnnngh!”

 

Which is how I got forty nine [ beetles](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/cf/9a/2f/cf9a2fa630e316a8091c6d5f2d2b0b20.jpg) about the size of a small bead and seven stars with ocean waves inside them tattooed on my neck, Aunt Zippy’s special quick-healing salve sealing the skin. Aunt Zippy is, among other things, a master tattooist; the Best Tattooist in the World.

She’s also an excellent cook, and… I won’t say she’s prophetic, but she’s definitely in tune with people’s auras. There’s a reason I didn’t really object to her choice of color for the stars or [ bugs ](https://museumvictoria.com.au/pages/3671/mn019008.gif) or- anything, really. She touched up my marriage tattoos too; added a little blush of color inside my arms, re-darkened the lines, cleaned up some faded edges. Said the color would be a secret surprise for my husband.

Said she’d be bringing the Portgas Quilt for the boys to see, to touch, to know; said that she brought love from my sisters. Pressed her forehead to mine, that we would Know each other.

And then, when I had eaten and hugged her back and cried it out on her strong shoulder, she whirled out, as fast as she appeared.

You know, some of my odder habits are starting to make perfect sense…

 

 

On the second day; for lunch while I was- waiting- I caught a fish. Inside that fish was my brother Ace’s adornments; his cow-skull hat-tassel, his necklace of red beads and his hat-lace of the same; the smilies on his hat are blue enamel pins. The hat itself is- or was- orange felted leather, with brass fittings. His belt, too was leather, but they- hat and belt and knifehandle, his scabbard, his essential pouch- all melted, digested, in the fish’s belly. His elbow brace, too, was melted; his bracelet was fine, the red and white striped one. His log pose… wasn’t. It’d broken, which meant, of course, I couldn’t eat that fish- but. Well. I’d been needing a project, as did Mom.

 

How that fish got into the sky- well, only it knows. Er, knew.

 

 

It’s funny- of the three of us kids, Ace has always been a fractious point- a fractious person, even. Mom won’t make things unless she knows they will be of use; Mother, on the other hand, won’t make anything except for seemingly frivolous reasons. Perhaps it’s merely that I can understand the logic of my mom, and not the… the not-logic of my Mother. And so- Mom made me Gae Bolg; mom made Spadille’s Peace and Quiet, a pair of chui-style Beluga’buss hand-cannons; and for my other brother Ace… well, now that she knows what he has need of, she can make for him a blade. -except, according to her, his blade only sings songs of utility, not force.

And so I said to her- Mom, make him the Grandfather then. Hollow, like a pipe.

And she said- You think?

And I said- Yeah. He’s the same size as Spadey, just a hair less strong; has the Fire Fate.

And she said- Ah. I know what to do, then.

 

Mom- Portgas D. Alberich Ravelle- is the Greatest Weaponsmith in the World. She can make anything if it’s meant for violence eventually; her specialty is metal. (Who made Yoru, the Strongest Sword? Alberich the Weaponer- Portgas D. Alberich Ravelle; Mom did, Mom did, Mom made that sword.)

 

I took my brother’s broken knife to my Mom. She agreed to make him a new blade; no poor cutter this, but a long knife, a true blade. She showed me the drawing; [ simple half-leaf construction](http://www.bigbadtoystore.com/images/products/out/large/C2187P0019.jpg), handle of Adam wood; had me come over to do the brass inlay work, engrave? Engrave, the runes. Said that each of the children got their own specific hamon pattern; each of the Littles; Spadille; Ace; and me.

In swordsmithing, hamon is a visual effect created on the blade by the hardening process. The hamon is the outline of the hardened zone which contains the cutting edge. The hamon outlines the transition between the region of harder martensitic steel at the blade's edge and the softer pearlitic steel at the center and back of the sword. This difference in hardness is the objective of the process; the appearance is purely a side effect. However, the aesthetic qualities of the hamon are quite valuable—not only as proof of the differential-hardening treatment but also in its artistic value—and the patterns can be quite complex. Certain styles are as good as maker's marks, and a true hamon can be easily discerned by the presence of a "nioi," which is a bright, speckled line a few millimeters wide, following the length of the hamon. The nioi is typically best viewed at long angles, and cannot be faked with etching or other methods. When viewed through a magnifying lens, the nioi appears as a sparkly line, being made up of many bright martensite grains, which are surrounded by darker, softer pearlite.

 

When I was really little, I remember thinking that the nioi was… the blades my mom made were half of day, and half of night, and the stars of our people were scattered the length of the cool steel. All of Zoro’s swords have the nioi in a [ happy bizen choji](http://www.ricecracker.com/info/hamon/choji.jpg) pattern- bright, toothy, wavy. Taffy’s sword has a splendid widely spaced [ gunome](http://new.uniquejapan.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/05/Complex-Gunome-Hamon-Early-Muromachi-Period-Tomotsugu.jpg) pattern; it’s old- an old sword with a very old pattern. Spadille’s holdout blade has a pattern [ like bamboo](http://new.uniquejapan.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/05/Sudare-ba-Hamon-by-Tango-no-Kami-Fujiwara-Kanemichi-Edo-Period-Wakizashi.jpg). My spear’s blade has what could be confused for drifting [ clouds](http://www.arscives.com/bladesign/images/3-mino-hamon-detail.jpg) all down the center-spine. And Ace’s dagger? It has a hamon [ like silvery flames](https://markussesko.files.wordpress.com/2015/06/saka-choji.jpg?w=750)\- choji pattern, some kind of clover pattern.

 

And then she made for him a Weapon, too; or rather, she dug the plans for one out of her files and set to work on it; said it’d be done in a month, and I said that was fine.

Said it’s name is Ruyi Jingu Bang; says she’ll make the staff in such a way that it can match Ace Ariel’s strength and skill, whatever that might be, and obey his wishes- should he need a smaller staff, it shall be smaller, and so on. I believe her because, as I said, my Mom is the Best Weaponsmith in the World.

If she couldn’t do it, she wouldn’t have said she could.

 

As for my brother’s clothing- because there’s only one way anyone is ever executed, no matter what ocean they’re on; there’s only one way to do it- and that is nude. For my brother Ace Ariel, I make a pair of black underwear, boxers. A simple leather belt, put the buckle- with the A on it- that the fish didn’t ruin onto it; a [ leg pouch](https://ae01.alicdn.com/kf/HTB1OYF9KpXXXXcBXFXXq6xXFXXXg/Men-PU-Leather-Waist-Fanny-Leg-font-b-Bag-b-font-font-b-Punk-b-font.jpg) from storage that will fit him… A [ yellow jacket](http://wfashionmall.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/09/wfashionmall_casual_jackets_for_men_sleeveless_military_jacket_vest_yellow_1.jpg) with Whitebeard’s [ mark](http://t4.rbxcdn.com/184314572b2f2bc12589022d45d1add3) on the back, outlined in white. Putting purple right next to yellow is- garish. No shirt, he doesn’t like them; bright blue denim shorts in the same style he wore back in Alabasta, and plain white socks.

My brother Spadille’s mark is different; simpler, easier to put on any background. Or foreground, like with his [ pocket watch](https://img1.etsystatic.com/129/1/5716732/il_570xN.855393737_bwuz.jpg)… no, mom didn’t make this, Aunt Zippy did. Or maybe Cousin Lefite? Mom probably drew it; but she’s… maybe did the chasing. Probably did the chasing, actually. My brother has also always been most comfortable a few hundred years out of fashion- thus, I grab a [ jacket](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/a8/32/66/a83266cc1d04f323c6863ddf04f2eb35.jpg) for him that he’ll probably really like; matching waistcoat too, because I actually do know my brother’s sense of style. Different pants though- [ black leather](http://image.sportsmansguide.com/adimgs/l/2/220934_ts.jpg); the both of us always prefer to wear leather when we can get away with it. Boots for the both of them because Ace is the same size as Spadey with the same sized feet; extra socks just in case, more underwear if the ones I made don’t suit, Log poses, sundry items- soap, straight razors, combs, brushes, shampoo and conditioner and shaving cream.

I clean out my storage in the warehouse, stow it all in my shadowed studio back home. I’m- I’ve moved out.

 

Mostly, for those few days, I was in a state of… waiting. Have you ever seen a hornet nest? It’s this [ big grey blob](http://cdn.images.express.co.uk/img/dynamic/128/590x/secondary/giant-Asian-hornet-nest-spotted-UK-673530.jpg), looks… looks like an upside down storm cell. -I finally know my full name; not the lies Morgan told me, not the names people forced on me- my own name, that I picked for myself, and accepted after all this time.

Portgas D. Mab Boudicca Tailor Morgan.

Stitched in silver with all my kin going back generations; stitched in gold again.

There can be no other. Her like will not come again to this World.

It’s funny- a Storm is coming, after all. I’ve got the clouds to prove it.

 

 

And then, on the dawn of the fourth day of waiting, I Knew. I went to my mom, to tell her.

 

“Mom, it’s time.”

“Ah- right, right. Here, take this- it’s a knife for Ace, it’s name is Shōbō-shi; I’ve made him a boot knife as well, Kirameki- he wears boots, yes?” Fire Dancer and Sparkling; I'm- Oh, no, Sparkl _er_ , listen to the emphasis Mab.

“Yes.”

“The staff won’t be ready for another month; you’ll give it to him then. And here’s hair clips for you- they turn into a set of kakute, Kizu, and a pair of trench knives, Hitokuchi. Your hair’s gotten so long, and I just- I don’t want it flying into your face.” Hmhmhmhm, Scratch and Bite- my mom really knows me well.

 

“Thank you, Mom.”

“...You’re going dressed like that?”

“Um- I hadn’t thought about it, I was… they’re going to try and execute him, so I was busy making Ace clothes, and Spadey’ll need clothes too, considering, and-”

“Calm. Okay, wait here.”

I waited. My mom returned with a bundle of- armor? Armor. I put it on, let my mom trim and brush my hair, clip it back just so. I look at myself in the mirror.

I smile.

 

“I’ve blacked the inside of your belt pouch- I noticed you used black silk for your bag, so I thought, **_well._ ** I had Zippy paint your belt'n'pouch with the darkest brown, too- won’t pick up stains so clear, that way. Has some ambiguity.”

“Thanks Mom. Mom?”

“Hmm?”

“After everything, d’you wanna meet him?”

“Hmm. I think that might be best- so long as he wants to meet me, I mean.”

“I think he will. You’re his aunt, after all- you and his _ounadam_ were identical twins, right? I mean- that's, I think that's the right word-”

“Well- if we want to get into antiquated technicalities, yes, of course; yours too, really. Still, blood only matters if we say it does- aside from the medical necessities, I mean.”

“I know- still. I’ll let him know he has the option. I mean- he’d probably like to know that identical twins runs in the family, along with the Fuckin’ Narcolepsy.”

“Hmm.True. Zippy also had these for you-?”

“Ah! I had wondered if she kept them- mine, Spadey’s, and Ace’s too.”

“...There a reason you needed your old baby blankets?”

“Well, they’re waterproof and Moda met Ace and uh. Congratulations, it’s triplets.”

“HAH!”

“Yeah, that’s been the general reaction.”

“Well- sure, give ‘em to her. I am **delighted…** bring Moda yon pennywhistle would you? Made it for fun one day- she might get some use out of it, eh?”

“Ah. -I have to go, now.”

“I expect so.”

“...Love you, Mom.”

“Love you too, Mab.”

 

I hug my mother- take her in. She’s really the spitting image of Rouge- but a Rouge that lived, a Rouge that _aged_. More often than not, my mom’s hands are covered in soot or grease; her pants are sooty too. Her shirt is usually covered in the dulaman pattern, golden seaweed; her hair, when it’s not up for work, is down in the long twists she prefers. I let go of her, let go of her woodbine and soot smell, her pale freckled skin and her gently crinkled gaze. I smile.

Take her snack pack of fresh dogwood cherries and chewy-bland cheesefruit; tuck it away with my purse in my belt pouch, right next to my clean stack of hankies.

 

And then I go to save my older brothers.

My stupid, _stupid_ older brothers.

 

* * *

 

So. This is how things stand; I’ve spent the last few days gathering everything I could think of. I realized pretty quick that some things would be too… too much for me to use immediately. The eel skull for over my head is a good idea, but I don’t have time for it. Mab gave me a… a big coil of silk ribbons, said to use them however I wanted. Took money she left for me on the table- no one else would have a Danger Lady land on a stack of money that wasn’t there when I walked in. Grabbed a duffle, packed it full of everything I could think of- ran to the fishmarket, bought as many eel heads as they’d sell me. Something like- it was the end of the day, they’d only sell me two. They only had two to sell.

Ran back to Sunny; put the eel heads down for the Working Ladies to strip the flesh from. Considered my options. There’s only so much I can do with the time I have- I can’t build a full… I don’t know the words for it. Amplifier, maybe? I can’t build it in time- ([I can’t fix it](https://youtu.be/PYJQVyxOadY)-) but I do have three days; I can buy more eel heads, make… Mab calls them dolls, sometimes. Puppets, other times.

They’re- fetishes, maybe, that you make with your own two hands, bone and skin and fabric where flesh should lay, and because **you** made them they’re _yours_ , you can use them to do… all kinds of things, like, like make an okama into a woman by putting all the man underneath the seeming into the doll. Like, say, bounce the signal from your strongest Viewing Snails through the cool air- antenna, that’s the word. Eel skulls and silken tapes make antenna. I don’t have time to make a really big one- so I’ll have to make lots and lots of small ones. Need- need to go to a junk store, need a central control schema, need… receivers.

 

It all works out to about two days of feverish work, devouring the easy-to-cook meals Sanji packed away for us; sleeping in short stretches. Ended up with three hundred eel skulls, each trailing their own discrete ribbon. Carefully wrapped each one, stowed them neatly. Packed up my [ normal kit](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/ec/97/a4/ec97a47e476f8debed10282ecc9f62b3.jpg) for travel; big brass amplifying horns, shell-disk playing station. [ Dressed not at all like myself](https://gyazo.com/ae793591f3995b4982d101a7b8dd0bf5); put on real shoes, put on a yellow coat, an overskirt, brushed my hair down flat and took an umbrella- looked to be raining soon. Tucked everything into the bag, grabbed a mirror from Mab’s storage wrapped in soft cloth. Ran quick quick quick for Miss Shakky’s bar.

 

Ran into the guy with the pink over-robe; shouted sorry over my shoulder, ran faster. Got to Shakky’s Rip Off Bar, slid inside just before the sudden downpour would’ve soaked me through.

 

“Chairete, Miss Shakky!”

“-Bryony! I wouldn’t have recognized you except, of course, the voice-”

“That’s entirely intentional, Miss Shakky. They’re going for it _today._ ”

“You’re- you’re sure?”

“Been listening to the chatter over Bluebeak lines- Yes, Miss Shakky. It’s Today. Can I set up in one of your booths?”

“Ah- sure. Need anything?”

“Still, room temperature water, please. In a mug or tankard, if possible.”

“Sure.”

 

I sit down, unpack; set down the plate and wake up the snails. Unwrap [ the mirror;](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/0a/46/50/0a4650c366dd6118e08741f314a6c95d.jpg) arrange the baby snails on the low table. This mirror is meant for Eyes On- there’s a song to wake up the eels, and then- Miss Shakky?

 

“-Sorry, what?”

“I said, if you help me move all the booze and the shelves, you can use the big mirrors behind the bar.”

“Oh- Oh! Yes, that- yes, please, of course. Thank you thank you thank you-”

“Hahahaha! Alright, come on.”

 

I help Miss Shakky move all the booze, stack the shelves neatly in the backroom where Mister Hachi is still resting- he looks much better now, he’s even strong enough to get up and help us with some of the shelves. He follows us back out, gives the quietly entering pirates a gimlet stare. I ignore them because I’ve still got a lot to set up- it’s not quite eight in the morning. First- the viewing mirror.

There are metal posts sticking out of the base of the back counter which split the big mirror into three; after I clear as much grime as I can from the surface, which really isn’t much- Miss Shakky’s bar is actually very clean at the start of each day, it’s only later the blood starts to set in.

Oh, oh no-

 

“If you’re going to stay and watch, please refrain absolutely from smoking. It fucks up the reception, and makes it harder for me to work.”

“Ah, my apologies.” says Gang Bege.

“Accepted- and at any other time, it wouldn’t matter.”

 

I’m unlatching basket after basket of antenneels; three lunchboxes, full of one hundred eel skulls and their attendant streamers. I bounce on my heels for a moment, then- time to begin.

 

Starting at the start- set up all the equipment, check; it’s arranged just as I like it across the bar. Provisions, check; water and snacks that won’t get my hands dirty.

Finally- [ weave the links](https://youtu.be/VB6a4nI0BPA?t=2m33s), and access the Snailweb… Slime? Doesn’t matter- first, the antennae. Woven from my mirror to the posts on the bar, long braided ropes of silk tape punctuated by dangling, snarling eel skulls. The song doubles as a- a sound check, makes sure that all my gear is in full working order. During the song, my cans came apart and rewove themselves; the last, biggest pair of eels wound themselves around the headpiece, their snarling jaws open and leering on the outside of the speaker’s housing. From boney throats hung my feathers, clean and bright and ready for action, all capped by soft little bows.

I tucked my hair behind my ears, put my headbones on, and daintily took my seat at the Disk Jockey console ready for action at Miss Shakky’s bar.

It’s just about nine in the morning.

Taffy calls in before I can really get started up- Serendipity. You only need once!

 

“You’ve reached the number you’ve dialed.”

“Yis! I am with Keimi-”

“-Hallo!-”

“-and we are en route to Marineford, ETA one hour.”

“Outstanding- hang on, Mark’s on line two.”

“Yis, patch him through.”

“Hey, Mark.”

“Hey, Bry. Taff there?”

“Yis! Keimi too!”

“Good, we’re all here. Plan’s still “Get to Ace and get him Off the Island”, right?” says Mark.

“Yis.” “That’s what I’m here for!”

“I expect so.”

“Okay- here’s the problems I can see. Firstly- you’ll have to get to him. This is mitigated by Bryony acting as Ops- knowing her, she already has eyes and ears all through Marineford right about now.”

 

The mist in the mirrors has steadily cleared away, but-

 

“Hmm. Nearly.” I say.

“I have faith in you, Bryony- next, Taffy will need to get him out of whatever hold they have him in-”

“Knowing myself, it will almost definitely be from the actual Execution Stand. They usually read out a list of crimes, right?” says Taffy.

“It’s standard operating procedure, as far as I know- and considering that they really want him dead, and for everyone in the World to know exactly why, considering the chatter- they definitely will.” I say.

“Right. So. That… complicates things just a smidge. Bryony, you can set a Trick from a distance, right?”

“I’m not liking where this is going already, but -Yes.”

“Okay. Here’s the plan- we’ve already agreed to the actual, um, Thing; but for getting out... Wheelbarrow Wheelie’s the only way out I can see.”

“...” I say. Very loudly.

“Um- question. Is Taffy strong enough to get him out on her own?” says Keimi.

“...” says Taffy.

“Right, so- I know the risks, we talked about it- but… there’s no point if we can’t even get him off the island. Mark can’t do it because he’ll give away the surprise, and Bryony, you’re three days away.” says Keimi.

“Right. ...You know that if you try to carry him yourself, you’ll break your fins? It’s- you’ll have...” I say.

“Five minutes before exsanguination; if by some miracle I can get it cauterized, I have twenty minutes before I’m crippled for life, _I know_ , Bryony.” says Keimi.

“And… you know you won’t be able to swim at your top speed with him?”

“...I know.”

“Well… It’s your choice. If you’re doing this, fine. ...Did you tell your Uncle where you’re going?”

“He knows.”

“Do… you want to talk to him?”

“Is- is he there?”

“Yeah.”

“Um- yeah, actually.”

 

I flip a switch on the board, hand off a small snail to Mister Hachi, who takes it and walks into the back. Flip another switch, and Taffy’s private line should-

 

“Yis, here I am. Keimi’s got the other one.”

“Right. -So, this plan is shit.”

“Yis.”

“And… you know I can’t actually help except by- the obvious.”

“I know, yis.”

“... I really don’t want you to die. I know we aren’t exactly- friends, considering- but I really, really don’t want you to die, Taffeta.”

“Yis. I don’t either, Bryony. But- Literally no one else can do this. Mark’s too loud, you’re too quiet- it has to be me.”

“I- ffff. Alright. Talk to you when you get there?”

“Yis.”

 

Deep breath, Bryony. Drink your water. Fuzzy screen- hmmmmm.

 

“Stay on the line, Taffy, I need the bounce.”

“Um- yis? Alright.”

“Mark, there's a rocker switch on the back of your phone currently switched to the off position; flip it please.”

“Got it.”

 

I roll the tuner- catch a blip. Roll it back, zero in on it- [ insipid song](https://youtu.be/UoK8DaJRDaM). I listen to it the whole way through, use it’s cadences and hums to steadily pinpoint the exact location of the person singing this… this… very catchy audio garbage. On any other occasion, I’d be into it.

This is not one of those days.

Because see, here’s the thing- Siren girls can sing all the cute and fluffy songs they want, pretend to be soft and pretty and sleeping, no blood on their lips, no love for the taste. The problem is- on balance, ignoring everything, a woman is always more powerful than a girl. For all Folk, the difference between a girl and a woman is blood.

The person singing is just a girl; I am a woman grown.

 

“Oh wow, they _are_ shameless.” says Mark.

“Um- are, are they really trying to have a girl do a woman’s job?” says Keimi. Mister Hachi brought back the snail phone; handed it back to me. I returned Taffy to the normal phone line without much fuss.

 

“Considering the lyrics- they have to be a girl, yis. Or very, very optimistic.” says Taffy.

“...I think I have just the song.” I say.

“The… the chorus doesn’t even _mean_ anything- Oh my god, tear that bitch- no, I shouldn’t call her a bitch- _I don’t know that bitch, fucking_ **_SHRED HER!_ ** _”_ hisses Mark.

 

I smile.

 

* * *

 

Since I ate that Devil Fruit, I’ve had a… a specific sort of sense for instruments. A few days ago- I met this woman, beautiful, curvy but not fat, all muscles and… just.

A walking, talking force of nature? I’ve never met anyone who was so strongly a force of nature and also an instrument, ambulatory- _besouled._ So- I tried to get her to… I don’t know.

She wasn’t interested, but not for the usual reason. Usually, when I show an interest in a woman, she- doesn’t. It’s- there’s nothing wrong with my face, I’m just… really classically Long Arm. There’s nothing wrong with being a Long Arm; most women outside the Tribe just… really, really don’t appreciate the features. That’s not why she wasn’t interested; she wasn’t interested because- well, two things I can think of. She had something else to do that day, and she didn’t know me from a hole in the wall; Fair enough.

I’ve been rejected enough to know what a woman’s face looks like when it’s disgust she sees in me- there’s a… a scrunch around the nose, a scowl across the brow- she didn’t have that. She was… surprised, excited, not disgusted; and when she saw me, she was… she was interrupted before she could make a decision, took a phone call. Ran off before I could get her name.

 

There are stories about Sirens, back home- dangerous women, and they’re _always_ women- always something about blood, something about danger and rage and ship sinking and… deep, unspeakable rage, the malice that tears Mountains into the Seas. Feathered bird women with bones in their hair and blood in their mouths and magic songs coming from their lips.

The first time I heard Bryony Lovelace sing, I didn’t realize it was her for two or three days. Didn’t know it was her, didn’t know it was the woman who crashed through a bar who fell from heaven who- her **_voice._ **

Her voice has the quality and texture of silk.

 

This… this tape of silk wove through the air and wrapped around me, drew me like a moth to the flame. Through the doors of a bar, stopped dead by the sight of- a Siren. Syreene. Bones and feathers and silk weaving through the air to the tone of her voice lifted in song. Even though I only met her once- even though we only met again by chance in the rain- I could be _three days_ **_dead_ ** and I’d know her voice anywhere.

I sat at a table dripping wet, watched as eels of silk wove themselves into braids that wound around metal posts in the bar’s mirror. I watched her have a conversation with her friends- not friends, not with what I think her job is- and then… And then I heard Bryony Lovelace sing.

[ The First Lady of Song, is that her what they call her? Maybe so- maybe so](https://youtu.be/u2bigf337aU). (Yeah, it is. Of course it is. What else do you call the "Siren Aphrodite" when you're trying to be polite?) She sang, and the world fell away. I was too busy listening to her song, to her voice, to see what was happening in the viewing windows.

She said- she said "Little girl, get the **fuck** off my lines." and the- the quality of the battleground noise improved to what she wanted and- I-

 

My memory of the War of the Paramount is actually the very first set ever sung by Lady Bry, punctuated by staccato rhythms of battle and the occasional mumble of her snails. I actually have no goddamn idea what happened during the battle, my first mate had to tell me after the fact.

 

* * *

 

Flevance died in fire and blood and the rotten stink of corpses.

I was- twelve? Ten.

I can hardly stand to think about it, even now. After- is a little better, maybe. Mostly, I remember being locked in the grip of puberty- I didn’t… Nobody looks good from thirteen to fifteen; right when a person starts wanting to be attractive to others, Nature cackles and fills them up with puberty. Being a teenager was bad enough, but being one of Dofflamingo’s was- was-

 

I- I had a sister, though, I can think about her a little bit. Lami- Lamia, but she preferred Lami, said it was- was- doesn’t hurt to think about her, not too much. She was always smiling- always laughing, except for right about when she wasn’t. Before- she was sick but before that- she was always running around, getting into trouble, laughing.

But her temper- I remember one time- no. No. That’s not important right now.

 

So, when I heard- her laughter, but a woman’s, Mom’s voice laughing but not her- and then- The, the war, Aokiji stopped the crowds of pirates with a massive ice wall, but before any of the pirates really lost momentum, there was a cry of- her cry, the sound of her battlecry. It was hers when she was- fucking, fucking six? Yeah, yeah- called herself a Tiger.

If it’s- if it’s her- no, couldn’t be.

 

**_“TAIGAR MAARO!”_ **

 

_Lamia!_

 

She roared and the ice- the ice shattered around her fist, turning back into water as her shockwave advanced. As the water fell, the pirate fleet moved in on Marineford and I- I don’t remember how I got onto my ship, or what I said to my crew. I just know that one moment I was in Shakky’s Ripoff Bar, the next I was in _Octopus Garden_ and headed for Marineford. At top speed, we’d get there in a bit more than fifteen minutes.

Lami always swore she’d be the Strongest Woman in the World- and she wouldn’t need a Devil Fruit or anything to do it, just her own hot blood and her two strong fists. As we race for Marineford, I can’t help but think- you know, maybe she actually managed it. She was stubborn- she-

And, aside from the fact that she died- there’s. There’s no way it’s really her. But- I have to check.

 

_The wind and the rain, the wind and the rain… hey, ho, the wind and the rain…_

 

* * *

 

So. We made waterfall near Mark; left _Shearwing_ with him. Rain poured down; but it didn’t matter, really. Keimi and I went inland by water, dove beneath blockades and swam silently through patrolling gunboats; Bryony relayed everything she saw as we passed to Mark, who chattered, relayed it all to- someone. A surprise.

 

I looked down, once- saw the big black shape only just slightly another color from the true-black depths. Heard Bryony snigger, say-

 

“Oh, what a marvelous surprise.” says Bryony.

“Mm. Streaker Moda doesn’t half-ass things; it’s whole-ass or nothing.” says Mark.

I hummed in response.

 

Keimi nodded to me, swum off to get into her own position; I climbed ashore out of sight.

Pulled out my skiminnows from their pouch, let their feathery fins whirr up before letting them escape my fingers in a silent, shine-less whirling. Like feathers in the wind. Like [ flatworms](https://waterdogphotographyblog.files.wordpress.com/2014/01/flatworm-small.jpg), edged in lavender and green.

 

“Okay, Taffy- I’ve got Eyes on you. Go for it.” says Bryony.

 

I made my way in, crept past guards and through sheer white halls and courtyards. I crept just out of the sight of guards, Bryony’s soft voice a cloak for when they should have seen me, but didn’t. There were rooms of decadence and rooms of squalor- towering shelves full of weapons, empty rooms of cleaning supplies. I made a stop by the store-room full of women’s suits; found the plainest one, in a lovely shade of yellow. They execute people naked, and it’s faster to put on a skirt than pants; and there’s lines I’m really not comfortable seeing past. Like, not really comfortable seeing a man’s penis. Don’t like men like that, really. I mean- maybe there might be a man I look past it for? Dunno. Not yet.

Skirt folded up, stowed in my pack- snuck up high, high, highest.

Crept over to the wall to see-! No, just a mirror surface, just polished metal. God, I look scary with the scarf-mask up, let me just- much better, I can actually breathe now.

 

From my earpiece, there’s a faint but extensive gasp.

 

I stare at my own face- sharp nose, pointy sideburns, carefully pointed ears. Short hair, unruly like fur; black. Big yellow eyes with a flat black ring- like a hawk, but I’m no hawk. The crucial difference? My eyes show the slit more common to foxes- I have fox eyes, before I have hawk eyes. Different- yet, sometimes, exactly the same.

 

I settle in, watch the execution stand organize itself; see Keimi move her wheelbarrow into position without being seen. Some head beak starts bawling out Ace’s “crime”- hear it with half a head, hear Bryony say- something nasty- then. Glide over the stage, shadow small enough to be a bird- a hawk? No- a falcon.

 

“Need that big distraction, Bryony.” says I.

“Blood has no bearing on a man’s worth!-sorry. Here- You’ve got three minutes and fifty five seconds, once I start. [ Hm-hm-hm- ](https://youtu.be/rPOlakkBlj8)” sings Bryony.

 

I dive. Touch down next to Ace- his eyes widen, even with the greasy green cuffs tying him to the execution post. I tie the skirt around his waist, because I really, really don’t want to see that. The cuffs and chain are seastone; the wood keeping him on the stage is not so tough. I cut through it with my fingertips, prompting another faint gasp to ripple through wherever Bryony is- there is a sound like [ cracking ice](https://youtu.be/2bymzYg_yWI?t=30s) echoed through water- Sea Kings? Oh god they’re huge- before a resounding shout.

Rising from the sea- a Surprise.

Mark says her name is [ Vlitra. ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/87/63/25/876325e69367807d8be400d48c14bb70.jpg)

 

 

I slide with Ace down the stage, into the waiting wheelbarrow. We get about halfway across the courtyard before the distraction fails- and then, Captain! Fell out of the sky! Shouting something but-!

 

“-Captain we got him we need to go please!” says I.

“TAFFY!” bellows Captain.

“Aw, hell.” growls Ace.

“GO TAFFY GO!” shouts Keimi.

 

And then, Keimi and I cheesed it, shoving the wheelbarrow with everything we had. Behind us, there were general screams of fury and pursuit. So Keimi and I ran even faster- Captain came and grabbed the handle from Keimi, who leapt up into the barrow to start getting the manacles off of Ace.

We barrelled hell for leather over shattering pavement and through roaring battles; a full field of war rushed past us. Bryony sang us a veil, [ samba-ing](https://youtu.be/PqG6cquOURc) us through the battle. Said, at one point- “Uh uh. None of you will beat me today.”- and then chanted, hummed, sang a full band all by herself. Tapped on glasses and rattled boxes when her voice just wouldn’t do.

 

Behind us, in hot pursuit- All the fucking bluebeaks, and the dogs, and- aaaaaah!

 

(Bryony gets bored singing songs the same old way- but she respects Brook and the songs he loves too much to treat them with anything less than the fullest respect. Bryony also has about three full octaves to play with in her singing voice- there’s a _reason_ she’s the distraction.

She’s a full Siren- the blood song in Floria just made it official.

There’s a _reason_ they didn’t catch us.)

 

Still guarding Keimi- but in this case, it’s a guarding her back kind of thing and Captain’s here too. He’s got the barrow, slap away a bullet, dodge, run run help push the barrow- [ swordsman?](http://vignette2.wikia.nocookie.net/onepiece/images/2/22/Shiliew_Manga_Infobox.png/revision/latest?cb=20130223001844) Honorless- coming for us! He cut through his own allies to come for us he’s going to-

Captain shouts as he runs forward.

My resolve is unwavering.

 

I look at the man with a sword and no Honor. I let go of the barrow, let Captain keep running, turn. Put my hand on my sword. Size him up. Small, pitiful thing.

(What does a Fox fear from the Rain? Nothing. And the blades fell like grass, smoking upon the earth; small, worthless things.)

He raises his sword- in one moment I draw Kusanagi say “Grass Cutter” cut through his sword. Smoke rises from the cut.

 

 

Cut through him-

Follow through, said Zoro-sensei. Smoke rises from his two falling pieces. Splattered with blood, is I. The smell of shit.

 

 

Kusanagi-

She moved too fast to get blood on her blade, but I wipe her on my sleeve anyway before I sheathe her again- and oh fuck no, how did [ he ](http://vignette1.wikia.nocookie.net/onepiece/images/b/bf/Dracule_Mihawk_Anime_Infobox.png/revision/latest?cb=20151222105910) get so close-

I look at him. I see his interest.

 

“Nope.” says I.

 

And then I cheesed it back to my Captain, who was pushing the barrow while Keimi… filed at the chains on Ace? Well, she did say it was seastone, that might be our best bet for now. Grab onto the barrow handle and shove, Taffy.

 

“Holy- HOLY FUCK GUYS LOOK OUT-” screams Bryony.

 

I turn. Lava-man coming for us all, his fist a burning rock of death-fire. Mab-mama rolls out of a shadow with a long haired man in a green coat who looks like another Ace she turns there’s a man in blue with a napkin around his neck holding a pipe trying to run towards us- too slow, he’s too slow and Kusanagi isn’t for blocking I can’t cut lava Green Ace shoves her back behind him-

 

* * *

 

**“NOT MY KIDS YOU BITCH!”**

 

* * *

 

And there, in front of us- the Rum Runner, Harry “Nightmare” Morgan. In her gut was a lava fist; on her face, a snarl. She looks just like Mab when she’s at her most enraged- it’s the eyes. Her face is smooth, like a doll’s- but those _eyes-_

Mab-mama looked at Green Jacket not-Ace. They nodded with their eyes alone. And then Mab-mama drew her spear and stepped forward grabbed Hari Morgan’s hand which was clamped over the lava fist and where it touched around her skin the lava was mortal flesh and there was a black rising shadow and- they were gone.

We cheesed it all the way to the ocean after that.

 

* * *

* * *

 

I dive into the Shadow. Roll out behind Aradia as she sits at her vanity, her long hair unbound. She stares at me through the dark glass, silver-grey eyes meeting my own sharp brown. There’s a long, slow moment where we just stare at each other, her in her plain boxers, me in my full battle garb with my spear tucked over one shoulder.

I toss my spear onto her bed.

She rolls under the first strike, ducks my snap fist and returns with a grab but I’m too quick for her- dodge left right eel under clawed handstrike and close my fist around her throat. Pin Aradia to the blank white wall in her Marine barrack- her room? Doesn’t matter- reach into the belt pouch, pull out the [ doll](https://gyazo.com/1252dcf84e9f150d0a567e1c3af00a79). I lay it on her chest, too smooth, too flat- horror, then acceptance fills her Shadow, her eyes tears falling and I press my fingers my shadow fingers under all her stitching and get ready to pull- freeze.

Don’t. Move.

 

“Ara-yada, are you coming?”

“-Sorry, Mistress. I’ve taken sick- I’m afraid I’ll have to stay behind.”

“You’re quite sure?”

“It may be contagious; I don’t want to risk it.”

“There will be punishment, of course, but- certainly. The Choice is yours.”

“Yes, Mistress, thank you.”

“...Hmph. Very well, I shall see you when I return.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

 

And then Morgan, wrong as she is, is gone. I meet Aradia’s terrified eyes with my own, our reflected terror of her, of Morgan, echoing between us. And then- she’s gone. I press my forehead into Aradia’s, whisper-

 

“I’m sorry for leaving you like this for so long.”

“You were scared, too. I’m sorry for hurting you like that- but-”

“She always does the same thing, and that time you only had two choices.”

“Yeah. -yeah.”

I pull back, look her- him- them- in the eyes. We’re both crying.

 

“Hold still.” I say.

I pull.

 

Aradia turns back into a Doll, crumples and crumbles and breaks into pieces in my own two hands because I’ve stumbled back and let go of my brother. I hold the shattered Lie in my hands and weep, silently. Spadille takes a handkerchief and holds it open beneath my hands- I let the pieces fall.

We stare at each other, for just a moment. Spadille tucks the ragged bundle into my hands- stumbles over to the vanity bench, sits down again facing away from the mirror. I tuck the doll the corpse the broken Lie back into my belt pouch; pieces of shell and a wavering voice fades away into nothing but pieces and spider threads melting in dew, tears in rain. I sit on the bed, across from Spadey.

I stare into the mirror, at his back- covered in [ lash marks](http://orig05.deviantart.net/a3a8/f/2013/281/3/6/__you_never_knew_my_pain______by_gueparddefeu-d6pq3qo.jpg), crisscrossing like ugly seams, like- and mine echo, smaller and thinner. I could find ways of avoiding Morgan far better than Spadille would, than he could; she wouldn’t ignore him. For me, and Titania, **_he wouldn’t let her._ **

 

“So, are we talking now, or…?”

“No, not yet. She’s still alive- I. I can’t.” he says.

“...Okay. Pants and a haircut?”

“Pants and Haircut, please.” he says.

“Okay.”

 

I take out Spadille’s jacket, his pants, his socks and boots and underwear; pull out one of my hankies and a pair of scissors. Spadille moves his bench out, so I can stand behind him. I drape the hanky around his shoulders, and clip [ his long hair ](http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3wK6oKowBpc/VTf-JvE8RyI/AAAAAAABdOE/gZZ6jJvlOeM/s1600/Long%2BHair%2BVictorian%2BLady%2B\(2\).jpg) to where it almost touches his collar. I wind it up and tie it in the hankerchief- lilies embroidered on it, picked out in white. I give Spadey his hair, gently brush my fingers through what remains on his head. He leans into the touch, slides over on the bench. I sit next to him and give him a gentle hug, one wing, two, wrapping around his ribs and his shoulder and my arm slinks under his and we curl into each other and just- breathe.

No matter _what_ happens, it's over. It's over.

([It’s over, isn’t it. Isn’t it over.](https://youtu.be/UeQJxgr2sQM))

 

He wraps a meaty arm around me and hugs back. I lean my head against his, nuzzle against him. He’s just as I remember, warm and smelling faintly of anise. His face is my face is our mothers faces, our hair is our hair, our muscles our hands and feet we’re- siblings. We’re the same. Spadey’s got more freckles, maybe? He’s much- paler, paler than I ever was. I was so pale back at the end.

 

“-I’m sorry, Mab. I don’t think I- If I was better, smarter, I could have… there had to be a better way.” he says.

“Maybe. But- done is done, and gone is gone, Spadille. Come on- they’re trying to execute Ace today-”

“Like hell.” he growls. There’s the brother I know.

 

“Right?!? So- pants, boots- you want a shirt or vest, or-”

“Uh- actually, I’m kinda wanting this [ green tank](http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Q07XB4eLYEU/UULyrSvrnNI/AAAAAAAAAMk/rl95mSZ2XPs/s1600/mens-sleeveless-shirts-MIU-MIU-Sleeveless-shirt-at-YOOX.jpg), maybe? And the jacket, and- my stuff, I can’t just-” he says.

“I’ll pack up your- everything.”

“Okay…?” he says.

 

I let Spadille get dressed. I feel the Shadow of everything in the room, everything that isn’t him- and then I put it into the Shadow of my eyes, then the hold of the Merry, neatly packed away and stowed and on top of a drop cloth and covered neatly.

Just. So.

Spadille gasps.

I open my eyes, look at him as I put away my scissors. I hand him Peace and Quiet; he puts them one to a hip, in their belt.

 

 

My spear rests against the wall behind me, and I take it in my hand. I look at my brother- god, he really does look [ just like Ace](https://gyazo.com/fbcc383e0d8b409d294cd35f5bb878aa); maybe fancier? I hold out my hand; Spadille hesitantly takes it.

I tilt my head.

 

“Okay. I’m ready- I’m ready now.” he says.

“Close your eyes- and get ready for a fight, okay.”

“Okay.” he says.

 

And then the world changes from an empty white room in a marine base to a roaring battlefield- Spadille and I turn to see- Taffy splattered with man’s blood, wings flailing and firmly ignoring how she’s being followed by a man who looks just like her and Captain wheeling a wheelbarrow as Keimi flops over Ace and files on- manacles- Spadille and I rush to help when-

Black rage unceasing frustration tunnel vision stubbornness **rage rage rage- AND FIRE-**

 

* * *

 

**“NOT MY KIDS YOU BITCH!”**

 

* * *

 

 

I’ve only heard her sound like that in recordings.

I turn, spear at the ready to see- Harriet Morgan, with the most present and accounted for expression I’ve ever seen. In her shadow is- Knowing. Resignation. Acceptance? _Relief._

I look at Spadille. He looks at me.

‘Take them and go; if I do not return in an hour, **keep going.’**

He nods. I nod back to him, sharp quick then turn and rest my hand over Morgan’s fist she’s clamped it over Akainu’s roiling lava-

 

“Close your eyes.” I say to my Mother.

 

Morgan closes her eyes. I close mine. When I open them again, all three of us- Morgan, Akainu, and myself, are removed to tall mountains, the Mountains overlooking Marineford. I take my spear, look my dam in the eye. I ram it through her chest, through muscle and bone and her heart. I draw it back, slice her head off- have just enough time to feel her pure relief because _it’s_ **_over-_ ** and then I close my eyes and dive into the shadow of the Mountains as magma spews everywhere.

 

Heat the sensation of falling the sensation of bubbling the cold black of stone the stillness of water it doesn’t matter if he’s drawing up the fires of Vearth to support him until they reach the open air they do not exist in light under the earth there is no light and no heat and it’s very easy to just say- No- and the mountain is cold again and his rage is seething but I don’t care- race faster faster faster move at the speed of belief and tear his eyes out. Roil through him like his own hateful thoughts terrors gleaming teeth and the sensation of falling tear his fingernails off then his fingers slice slice slice at each knuckle and they cannot heal because they didn’t happen it only feels like it only looks like it blood on the grass that will not burn no matter the vitriol he spews screaming the roar of fumes spiraling high into the air and catches in the building stormhead what did you think we would do old man what did you think we were joking-

Did you really think the Fae would **_joke_ ** about the Promises they make?

Roars of words I don’t care about the boiling and bubbling of his rage the fury where’s the rest of him where’s the rest of him there’s- there’s nothing there, he let it all melt away in the fury dig in and watch the hail of burning ice shatter to the snarled roar of a tiger should run should run but he- he can’t- he can’t touch me, can he?

Seething fury frustration pain agony the sound of stones bouncing across ice and I and I and I am Unseelie, I remember now.

I remember, now.

 

Beyond us, Moda makes her displeasure known- Vritra, who's head is fully larger than the harbor bugles her displeasure, becomes a snarling mass of writhing fury against a golden Buddha’s advances, her slivery white jaws stretching wide before the close shut resounding snap and Sengoku the Buddha is fully disarmed and Vlitra cracks him once over the head with her enormous tail and he staggers and falls and she dives back into the sea and- oh no you don’t.

 

* * *

 

**No, Akainu. You wanted a _Fight_ so **_badly?_ ** **Let me _show_ you why the Fae Hunt at _Night._ ****

 

* * *

 

**“KALADANDA VASHTA NARADA!”**

 

* * *


	25. Finale: Nowhere; Thus is the place Dreams go when they End.

**“Little Girl, get off my lines.”** I say.

 

The mirrors shine clear as the glass they are, their blackening silver ringing clear with the images of everything happening on that distant island. I watch the three screens, offer commentary.

I watch a man who could be a second Ace- as if Ace had somehow found a way to make division of himself, so that there would walk two of him- take a pair of warhammers- no, ‘Luga’s like Marks but bigger and stronger, more brass and wood and water- in hand and shatter the people who tried to stop his passage, washing them away in raging waters. I watched Keimi the Mermaid file away the manacles keeping Ace bound, watched blood pool against the wrinkled cloth of her socks- watched Ace use what little strength he still had on her crumpled fins, sealing burst vessels and holding blood inside of her with his own flames. I wonder where- or more importantly, **_why_ ** he learned his medical technique? Eh. If it ever becomes important, I’ll hear about it one way or another.

I watched as Captain and [ a man in blue with a napkin around his neck](http://img2.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20150215172017/onepiece/images/archive/c/c2/20150215175840!Sabo_Anime_Infobox.png) shoved the wheelbarrow over broken stones and broken bodies and towards the sea- they ran towards the sea. Greencoat Ace broke the opposition with one more mighty swing and wave of hard-hitting water, and then whirled around them all and shoved them- Captain, Blue, Taffy, and- Dracule Mihawk? The hell- into the wheelbarrow, took the wheelbarrow in his arms, leapt. They landed on the gilded fins of- Mark!

 

“Mark, Keimi broke her caudal fins- I’m looking for proper medical help right now, but you can help her now by cooling her flesh.”

“Y-yes, yes, I can do that-”

 

Searching- searching- Trafalgar Lami is- _there-_

 

“Trafalgar Lami, Keimi has had her caudal fins broken-”

“SHIT- who, who are you, where is she-?”

“I am Bryony Lovelace, Straw Hat Communications Officer; right now, Keimi is with my Captain and crewmates- over on Fafnir, see him on the coast?”

“I- yes, yes I do. I- I’ll be better than nothing, but- Oh! The- can you see the battlefield?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“That yellow submarine- I know who’s in it, he’s one of the best surgeons in the world-”

“I see it- hang on-”

 

Listen, listen, listen- got it.

 

“Excuse me, are you Trafalgar Law?”

“-What, no- I’m, I’m Sachi, why-?”

“Dammit- I’ve got a mermaid with a pair of broken caudal fins-”

“Has she been cauterized?” breaks in much darker voice.

“Yes; current treatment is cooling her fins to keep the burn damage down, blood-loss projected to be minimal-”

“Where is the patient?”

“Six clicks off the coast, on the head of the golden Sea King. I can let them know you’re coming- and also who is coming?”

“Tell them Doctor Trafalgar Law is coming, please.”

“Right away, sir. Mark, did you hear all that?”

“Yes- yellow submarine, has a doctor on it who can help Lami.” says Mark.

“Right- Taffy, keep her fins as still as you can.”

“-Yis.” Oh dear.

“Captain, you doing alright?”

“Been better, Bryony.”

“Hm. Why do you say tha-”

 

* * *

 

 

**“KALADANDA VASHTA NARADA!”**

 

 

* * *

 

I watch as the mountain- mountains, three mountains encompassing a block of the Red Line burst into flames burning with rage and then roiling under darkness- and then- then- and then I hear Mab sing and her song is coming from more than just my cans it’s coming from- the flies on the bar, the spiders the roaches the beetles- the bugs, the bugs.

They all- Mab, bugs, and Shadow- [ sing together](https://youtu.be/lp605dDIkeA).

Deep groaning cracks sunder the world; Shadow rules the Vearth.

I sway to Mab’s rhythm- _I couldn’t not_. The snails were dancing, too.

 

The music stops, and behind my crewmates where once stood mountains of fire- nothing. Three mountains stand black to the sky. A massive Sea King, bigger and more deadly and furious and- fierce golden light shimmers off a yellow submarine’s hull, the hiss of escaping gas.

 

I smell blood.

 

My- my ears are hot? No, not my ears- my sinuses, something- Miss Shakky is handing me a bar towel, rubbing under her nose and gesturing to- oh! I wipe, come away with a handful of blood on the white terrycloth. Shove it back and hold it there. Hot tears- red, tears of blood-

Green Ace carries his crewmate into the yellow submarine. Mark ushers everyone into the submarine, bodily lifts Dracule Mihawk into the vessel before shoving it’s door shut, and then-

A roar of pain as the Golden Buddha loses an arm. Vlitra cracks him a good one, knocks him for six, on his ass and he falls- and she falls- and everything is enormous waves of churning water and steadily fleeing Sea Kings.

Red Haired Shanks says something to the gathered Marines, uses the sheer force of his hale and fresh presence to cow the still fractious combatants- but then-

I watch as a Wild Haunt of Ghosts steals all the slaves of Mariejois- even the ones who didn’t know they were enslaved. I watch as the blackened mountains turn, grudgingly, red once more, before the middle one- two- three- simply cease to exist. In their place, a boiling storm, a stormcell, a-

 

 

“Oh my god. **Oh my god**.” I say.

“What- Oh no, I forgot a skimminnow up top, they’ll be so-” says Taffy.

“ **Hurricane.** ” I say.

 

Everyone goes dead silent.

 

“Mab killed a Mountain and left a Hurricane in it’s place. Get as far from Marineford as you can, right now.” I say.

“Okay, we will.” says- Trafalgar Law? No- Trafalgar Lami? No- Whitebeard? No, Everyone- I, I panicked and wide broadcast my words instead of- Everyone heard me.

 

Everyone heard me.

Everyone who can, runs.

 

* * *

* * *

 

In a world where terrifying snarls of weather fit to capsize even the most hardy of ships without careful management by their crews exist as everyday things, what kind of storm could be called a Hurricane? In short- if a Squall makes it so kids can’t play outside, and Storm washes away a town, and a Cyclone washes away a country, a Hurricane will sink an Island into the Sea.

There was once an Island called Atlantis; and then they broke contract with the Fae and a Hurricane came and sunk it into the Sea. Hurricanes haven’t been seen in the World since before the Void Century- the Fae Promised to stop calling them up, so long as the practice of slavery **_wasn’t_ ** anymore.

Funny old World; funny how these things work out.

Fae don’t break Promises; and, they don’t really lie, either. They won’t tell you the whole truth, maybe- but they won’t lie. Some of them are very good at this- Portgas D. Ace Ariel Morgan, for example. Some of them are not good at it at all; every living Tontatta, for example.

So. When it was discovered- not once, but thrice, that the World Nobles had _not_ stopped enslaving others, in clear violation of their Promise… Well.

Mariejois, for all it’s splendor, is still on top of a Mountain. Twenty Families made their Promise with the Fae; and, though only eighteen remain, a Promise made by the Fae is a Promise Kept.

There is nothing in this life but Mist, and we will only be alive, but for a little short while. It was Promised, and must be so.

If you break that Promise? You’ll learn exactly why the word “cloud” and the word “clod” come from the same place.

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

[ _ Always in the middle of a kiss _ ](https://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dirge-for-a-joker/)

_ Came the profane stimulus to cough; _

_ Always from the pulpit during songs _

_ Leaned the Devil prompting you to laugh. _

 

_ Behind mock-ceremony of your grief _

_ Lurked the burlesque instinct of the ham; _

_ You never altered your amused belief _

_ That life was a mere monumental sham. _

 

_ From the comic accident of birth _

_ To the final grotesque joke of death _

_ Your malady of sacrilegious mirth _

_ Spread gay contagion with each clever breath. _

 

_ Now you must play the straight man for a term _

_ And tolerate the humor of the worm.  _

 

 

-Goodbye, Mother. Do not return; do not expect my Mercy again. Goodbye. Goodbye.

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

A deep roaring overtakes the rushing- and the Hurricane advances towards-

 

“ **BELAY THAT! IT’S HEADING FOR MARIEJOIS; BEHOLD!** ” I shout.

“There’s only so long you can hope to break Fair Trade before things go wrong for you.” says Mab.

 

I look at her. She’s- only a little sooty, maybe. Leaning against the bar with a deep relaxation that I know for a fact is nothing of the kind, her Spear- Kaladanda, and isn’t _that_ a Name to conjure by- in one hand held almost loosely. The tip is faintly scuffed with- something. Blood. That’s blood. I can’t be sure whose though; is it Morgan’s? Is it Akainu’s?

I don’t know.

There’s something- calm, the kind of deep calm like- like in Cancera, in Capricorna; Calm Belt calm, the enforced dead quiet of nesting Sea Kings and burning resolve. The calm in the middle of a battle, when you know your enemy will die by your hands.

 

“Queen Mab- aren’t there… surely there were innocents in Mariejois?” I say.

“Oh yes- and Perona got all of them out before time.” murmurs Mab.

“-And Morgan?” I say.

“Dead.” says Mab.

“...and Akainu?” says Shakky.

“Dead.” says Mab.

“And you, Mab?” says Luffy over the phone.

“Alive, and well, Captain. Shall I bring Bryony over?” says Mab.

“Please do.” says Captain.

“Ah. I’ll just- I’ll just pack up then?” I say.

“It’d be faster if I did it- Taffy is… in a bit of a state, I think.” says Mab.

“Ah. Yes, please-” I cut myself off because in the space between my agreement and Mab’s hearing of it, the world has shifted. I’m in my raincoat, the snails are put away, the shelves and booze are back in their places- and all Mab did was close her eyes.

She is the Queen of the Dead in truth, now. There can be no other.

 

“Well. Come along, then- sooner we leave, sooner we get there. Thank you for looking after her, Miss Shakky.” says Mab, that horrible deadly calm finally released from her voice.

“Oh, sure- no problem, Mab. She was a treat to have around.” says Miss Shakky.

 

Mab offered her a half smile- the most expressive I’ve seen her be… _ever._ Oh, she must be exhausted. Or maybe- maybe she doesn’t have to pretend anymore?

I don’t know.

I pick up my duffles- Mab even strapped my eel-cases to the bag somehow, neatly tucked my umbrella into the top loop. Scramble- because I had to change her too, she’s not Scrabble anymore- curls her strong legs around my deceptively squishy waist.

 

With her eyes still closed, Mab holds out her hand. I put mine in hers, and- it’s rather obvious, isn’t it. I close my eyes.

 

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

 

We suddenly aren’t in the bar anymore; we’re- in somewhere metal? The echoes are strange but- I open my eyes, and there curled into a defensive puddle of feathers and whining nerves, oh _Taffeta._ I drop my bags next to the Scary Sword Dude, send Scramble over to Captain who’s sitting with his brother, Ace, and Napkin-neck, and- Greencoat Ace; no, not important- Taffy is trying really hard to be brave, and she’s only brave when she’s got a job to do, oh _Taffy._

I shuck out of my coat, my disguise; only my filmy navy blue underskirt and white swimsuit remain. _So much better_. I leave my shoes with the disguise- I don’t care what anyone says, I’m never wearing closed toed shoes again. I crouch down in front of Taffeta. I gently touch her feathers- piercing yellow eyes stare back at me, then I’ve got an armful of a silently sobbing Cherubim.

 

I carefully pick her up, nod once to Mab, who nods back, then goes and joins her brother. Brothers?

 

They sit together in a row- Napkin-neck at one end, then Captain, then Ace who is leaning on Captain, his skin still faintly sparkling with green metal shavings, and then a gap, and then- Greencoat Ace, who looks- awkward. Mab sits herself between Ace and Greencoat Ace, stretches her legs straight out in front of her before folding them under her like a cat maybe? No, _seiza_ , that’s called _seiza._

 

I fold myself down next to Scary Sword Dude; Mark drapes himself over the other side of Taffy. Like a Taffy-sandwich.

 

I- I can’t tell if I’m hungry or if I need to pee.

 

_Shit!_

 

* * *

 

I rest my eyes for hours. Eventually, a dark presence- scratchy, like Lami(a)’s voice, comes and finds us all in our waiting arrangement.

 

“The surgery went well- Keimi’s going to be fine. She can’t have visitors yet, though; and all of you need to not be sitting in front of my radar, so-” says Trafalgar Law.

Be polite, Mab.

 

“Is there somewhere you’d prefer us to be, Captain Trafalgar?” I say.

“The- galley, there should be enough room in the galley.” he says. If he’s anything like his sister-

“Would you show us the way, or have someone show us there?” I say.

“-Yes, actually. Sachi!” he barks.

“Captain!” yelps Sachi.

“Take them to the galley, please.”

“Yes sir! Come on, you lot-” rumbles Sachi, but not in an unfriendly way.

 

I stand, put Kaladanda back over my shoulder, and follow Sachi; behind me eventually meanders everyone else who isn’t actually a member of the crew. The Heart Pirate jumpsuits, while hideous, are terribly practical- good belt loops, easily replaced, washable, wearable by a great variety of crewmates- even the Captain was wearing a set, even if his had leopard spots stamped all over the pants. And was blue. And the hoodie over the whole ensemble is a bit- yellow. Although, if he’s anything like Lami, he probably gets very cold very easily…

I’m distracting myself.

 

We arrange ourselves along the narrow tables- the girls and… Dracule Mihawk? Why- oh, he’s interested..? and not willing to let this golden opportunity for entertainment get away from him, fine. Across one side of the table I’m at- Captain, between- Oh, Sabo, right, and… Ace. I- oh wow, everything is very blurry. Oh shit I forgot to put on my glasses.

Wow.

Haven’t been that stupid in years, damn.

I- shit, I wasn’t wearing them at all.

Then again, I didn’t need to see my enemy to strike them down.

Still don’t really- let’s get the manners out of the way before anything else, though. There are rules for this sort of thing.

I open my belt pouch, pull out my purse, set it on the table with a thump. Captain giggles, but he usually does when I use my Devil Fruit powers so obviously.

 

“Punch.”

“Neh, Mab?”

“Well- we’ve got at least three Captains here, and I don’t think anyone wants to fight, and we do need to talk, so- I don’t have quite enough hard liquor to pass it around. Thus- punch.”

“...What’s punch?”

“Mixed alcoholic beverage- like grog, but fancier and better tasting. Will also get you very drunk, so.”

“Oh. ...Wait, do you have the punchbowl in there?”

“...You don’t know what punch is, but you know what a punchbowl is?”

“Yeah, Sanji feeds you salad out of it.”

“That- that explains more than it doesn’t, actually. Anyway, hold this-” and I hand him Granuna’s Suicider Rum.

He whines.

 

“Nothing else is strong enough, Captain.”

“-it tastes _so bad_ Mab-”

“I know. Suffer like the rest of us- or leave the table.”

 

I pull out lemons, limes, oranges, and a grapefruit because on balance we need the tartness to counteract the rum’s overbearing sweetness. I pull out the [ wooden punchbowl](https://img1.etsystatic.com/052/0/7358592/il_570xN.718516015_2700.jpg) and cups and a ladle. Gallon sized glass jar with- one, two rubber bands separating the jar into thirds. One bottle of rye whiskey, into the jar- green tea, sugar, water, make; pour into the jar and then a bottle of cognac and the zest of four lemons. Put the lid on.

While that cools, slice lemons and oranges and the grapefruit, juice of two lemons, half a liter of soda water, the last of the horrible rum, and a whole bottle of champagne into the bowl. Check the base- cool enough. Add a full third to the bowl, and a large round orb of ice because Sanji takes cooling drinks very seriously. Stir with the ladle to encourage mixing.

 

“Bar snacks?” I ask the room at large.

“And a carafe of water, lest we court hangovers.” murmured Dracule Mihawk. How did he- no, no, don’t encourage him, you don’t need to even consider how he managed to insert himself at the table. Just. No.

 

“I second that- and considering this is my ship, we might as well have something a bit more substantial than bar snacks alone.” sighs Trafalgar Law.

 

He’s exactly like Lami, oh _my_ god. He’s also set several platters of onigiri on the table, nice. I set out my favored fish and almonds, various pickles, and a carafe of water with more lemon slices and quartered strawberries, condensation running down it’s side.

Trafalgar Law takes a swig of his punch, shudders, and swallows. I sip mine, and hum- because yes, that’s right, that delightful fruit-tea taste and grinding scraping burning down the throat ow ow ow oh god why. Why do this to myself- I mean, that’s a rhetorical question.

Captain takes a generous swallow, and seems stuck between a smile and a grimace. Sabo slugs his back like a shot, whines, and forces himself to swallow. Spadey drains his mug and immediately goes for the water. Ace drinks his in small sips, munches on an onigiri.

I roll my neck on my shoulders.

Spadey sighs.

 

“Thank you, Captain Trafalgar; my commander would have been lost without your help.” says Spadille.

“Of course- ah, though I don’t believe we’ve been introduced...?” says Trafalgar Law.

“My apologies- Portgas D. Spadille Rogue; Chairete.” says Spadille.

“Ah.” says Trafalgar Law.

“-!” says Sabo.

“-!?!” says Ace.

“And you, Missus?” Trafalgar Law says.

“Ah- Portgas D. Mav Boudicca Tailor; Chairete.” I say.

“-!?!” says Sabo.

“-?!?” says Ace.

“Charmed.” says Trafalgar Law.

 

Dracule Mihawks interest is, if anything, even sharper. I reach into my fawn colored bag, pull out my glasses, put them on. Blink at everyone.

Oh god, what-

 

“Captain, have you been eating jellyfish again?” I say.

“Huh? No!” says Luffy.

“-cuz you look just like you did when you ate that basket of jellyfish-” I say.

“Mab, I did not eat a basket of jellyfish! I only made one peanutbutter and jellyfish sandwich, and you guys only let me eat half of it-” says Luffy.

“-half was still way too much-” I say.

“-and the stupid Impel Down place has a crazy poison-guy in charge who got me twice, okay!?! Anyway, I’m fine now, Iva-chan fixed me up.” says Luffy.

 

I blink at my Captain, then focus on the most important part of that entire exchange.

 

“Ah- Captain, you made a new friend?” I say. There is a resounding huff of unified disbelief that Captain making a new friend is the part of that conversation I choose to focus on, but dammit-

 

“Haha, yeah! They’re like Bon-chan-” says Luffy.

“-oh _no-”_ I say.

“-but way better at it-” says Luffy.

“-Oh, good-” I say.

“-and they can change from boy to girl and back at will, and their head is huge!” says Luffy.

 

Sabo is pinching the bridge of his nose with two fingers, while Ace is pressing a hand to his forehead. Odd.

Spadille is sniggering.

 

“Also, Captain- next time you have to break into and then out of prison, I’m going with you. I’ve done a bank and a… was it a factory or a nunnery, Spadille?”

“Both.”

“Damn, really?”

“Yeah, and we almost didn’t make it out because you and Lami got into a makeout contest with that pair of nuns-”

“-Oh yeah, the Bastille sisters…” I grin.

 

Spadey shakes his head, sighing.

 

“Anyway- yeah, Captain. Next time, I’m going with you.” I say.

“Shishishishi, sure Mab!” says Luffy.

“...Hey Mab?” says Spadille.

“Sup, Spadey?” I say.

“So- I know- I know Morgan sent you to military school hoping you’d die, that’s the only reason to send someone like you to Fairisle Military school, you’re so… you’re so kind, there’s no way- but. I- she said you egglurked, but- but that never sounded right, and I just-” says Spadille.

“Is that what she said? Well.” I say. I drink some more punch, set it to the side.

 

“Do you really want to know what happened? I mean- she wasn’t Wrong, exactly. I did egglurk, but do you want to know why?” I say.

“It’ll upset me, won’t it.” he says.

“It’s upsetting. Do you really want to know?” I say.

“-Yes.” he says.

“Okay. -Thrice an’ I’ll ask no more. Do you, Portgas D. Spadille Rogue Morgan, really and truly want to know the circumstances of your and your sibling’s birth, the truth of your and your sibling’s Lines, and my involvement in our sibling’s eventual escape of Morgan’s captivation- which, at this juncture, includes you; and further, the true reason for my Blood Feud with Harriet Morgan, which has resulted in a successful Final Hunt against her- with the full understanding that once you know these truths, they can never be unknown again?” I say.

“...Yes, I do.” he says, resolved.

I sigh.

 

Fuck it, let’s go.

 

“Okay.

The circumstances of your birth are thus- Gol D. Roger, Portgas D. Rouge, and Harriet Morgan were allies about twenty years ago. Morgan and Rouge were lovers for years before ever meeting the Old Pirate King- but Rouge had a taste for men, and Roger caught her eye. And Morgan hated men, she always hated men.

So.

At the time, Roger was dying- and while his logbook and remaining crew officers might say “of some nameless disease”, I consider that cowardice. Gol D. Roger had leukemia, which is a cancer of the blood- and Morgan, who hated men, but loved Rouge, sent her own doctor- Doctor Crocus- to join Roger’s crew and keep him alive for as long as possible. Doctor Crocus was able to extend Roger’s life for a long, long time, but eventually the cancer metastasized- which means it started spreading throughout his entire body. There’s still no real understanding of why cancer happens, or a cure for the disease that isn’t worse than the illness. -I say this here and now: Cancer doesn’t care who you are or how strong you may be; in the future, it may come to pass that such a beast is defeated. But it is not this day.

I won’t go into the details of their relationship- Morgan and Roger and Rouge- because _I don’t_ **_know_ ** _them_. I don’t know why Morgan loved Rouge; I don’t know why Rouge treated Morgan so cruelly; I don’t know what made Rouge pick Roger; I don’t know what made Morgan accept Roger; I don’t know. I just don’t know.

I **do** know that they were registered as married in Fairisle- all three of them together, which is legal and normal and perfectly correct. All three of your parents, Spadille- and Ace, too, and the Littles- all of them were married. You are **_not_ ** bastards; your parents were married. And, as far as I can tell, they actually liked each other, and in some cases, loved each other too. We all exist; they had to, once.

I also know that Rouge fell pregnant with Roger and Morgan’s child- or rather, children- which is quite possible, if tricky. She made both of them swear to secrecy; not just to from the World, but from each other, too. I know that, previous to Roger and Rouge, **_Morgan_ ** and Rouge had done something with their ovaries- the woman parts that make eggs, because we all come from eggs more or less- and instead of having two different sets of ovaries, they had two sets of identical ovaries. If you check our blood- mine, yours, Ace’s, and the Little’s, too; you’ll find that it looks like we all had the same Mother, even though we were born so far apart. Morgan and Rouge ensured that this would be so.

...I know that by the time Rouge had disavowed Morgan- which isn’t quite a divorce, but it’s close enough it makes no difference; by then, Roger’s cancer had metastasized. And I know that Morgan and Roger swore to protect Rouge’s children, but could not collaborate on how it was to be done because they had sworn to secrecy. I know that Morgan had joined the Shichibukai at Rouge’s request; it was not her idea, nor how she would have normally gone about amassing power and influence.

Hell, I even know that it was Roger’s request of Morgan, that she find Rouge and care for her and the child she would soon bear- that’s what set off the Hunt and Purge in Est about twenty years ago. Morgan is the one who made that Hunt last as long as it did- because, in the course of cementing her ties to the World Government, and protecting Rouge, and the unborn ones… In the course of that Promise, she made the Hunt scour Est everywhere _except for_ the place where Rouge was hid. I know Akainu gained prominence as a Marine during that time, as did Aokiji; and, of course, I know this.

 

"Morgan took a liking to Aokiji; and no, I don’t know why, but she did. I know that, to preserve her reputation and Aokiji’s, she did as Akainu bade her- and thus, defiled herself in the blood of children. None of you are bastards; but I am, in the most literal sense, as was Titania. Morgan committed an infidelity with Aokiji- Kuzan, the Vice Admiral- and thus was I, and my now dead twin Titania, conceived. And then, of course- reprisals. Fae contracts are not lightly broken, and marriage _is_ a contract.

I could logic out the timeline further- but, it is enough to know this: **Spadille, you were stolen by Morgan. Ace, you were not.** If Morgan had not stolen one of you, you would have been discovered; if Morgan had stolen _both_ of you, much might have been different. Instead, she picked one and not the other, and things are as they are.

Further, **_I know that Portgas D. Rouge had fourteen children in total. Her blood ran through fourteen different people’s veins._ ** Twelve of those fourteen were born of Roger’s blood; and two were not.

Of those fourteen children, only twelve of them yet live.

 

“Concerning the circumstances by which our siblings were slain.

Titania raped me when I was sixteen, and so I killed him when I was sixteen, and when I was seventeen I both had and lost my baby- because it takes much longer than the standard nine months if you’re under the age of twenty, aye. Hunted him down like the Monster he was; took his own axe and cut off both his heads until he was dead, dead, dead, and only the maggots left to eat him. -My only real regret is that I didn’t find a way to make his death more painful and humiliating than it was. I'm sure I could have found a way- still, getting everything below your waist cut off with your own weapon, having a swarm of furious insects begin to devour what remains of your still living flesh... hm, I could have let him scream more, until he started choking on his own blood- but really, by then I just wanted him dead. So, I killed him.” I say with the kind of unshakeable certainty I’d almost forgotten I had.

I really don't regret killing Titania- I regret he had to die, and that I didn't find a more horrific way for him to die.

Deep breath, Mab.

Moving on.

 

“That only accounts for one- and I know you know all of these details, Spadille, but I won’t be able to say this without going through the whole thing.

Shut.

Up.

 

"In Skua, the skill of transferral was perfected a long time ago- this being a medical procedure by which a fetus- which is what babies are called before they’re born- is removed from the mother without harming either. In the case of multiple births, as in twins or triplets, multiple eggs are produced.

Rouge was not ready to be pregnant, before she met Roger- but she didn’t want to give up the babies she had found a way to make with Morgan, either. So- eggs.

Now- a thing you don’t learn until you actually go through midwifery training: the eggs do not hatch at the same time, they stagger themselves by about two or three years… or they do if they’re in the same house. And they can still hear, and feel- it’s… Haki. Unborn children in Skua, especially, have very powerful Haki. Everything in Skua- all the living things, and most things that aren’t- have Haki.

[ So it wasn’t just me that knew what Morgan did. ](https://youtu.be/OU9jVi2NsmE)

I- I was reading a book about midwifery from the palace library- don’t know how I understood all the words, but I did. And then- hah, one day… one day I heard the oldest egg start tapping. Start hatching. I was so excited, but that really calm excitement where you’re content to just watch. We weren’t allowed into the nursery, not really, but the Matron was indulgent of me because all I did was sit quietly and watch. When that baby finally broke through it’s shell, I was so- So-” I can’t say it. I have to say it.

Say it. They’re just words, say them.

 

“The world was new again, in that little boy; that’s when I knew what I was going to be when I grew up. Or rather- what I wanted to do.”

Breathe in. Breathe out.

 

“Morgan was Fae, and- and Fairies take our oaths very seriously. The World takes our oaths very seriously. Morgan swore she would protect all of Rouge’s children, she promised, she- she took an oath that she would. Do you- d’you remember those, those drapes, the curtains all around the palace? The ones that went all the way to the floor, those really thick ones we hid behind when we used to play together?”

Spadille nods. He looks- no. No, just say it.

 

“It was- it was a few days after the hatching; She had been away, returned, went to see. Him. I- I don’t know- I don’t know why I hid behind the curtain. Maybe I wanted to surprise her? I- you know how I could, can do that… this?”

I shift myself out, and down, and smaller smaller smaller gone. If they were not physically looking at me with their eyes, they wouldn’t know I was there.

 

“So, I did that- this- and I guess- I guess she was so intent on… him, on him that she just- didn’t notice me.” I return. My wings are flat to my back, pressing into the skin.

 

“I saw her. Spadille, _I saw her._ Matron was sent out; I was hiding behind the drapes. The only ones in that room were eggs unborn and her and a tiny helpless baby that couldn’t- couldn’t- he was _so_ **_small_ ** _-_ I-"

Breathe.

 

"She left the door open, and I could see- the floors were polished marble, like mirrors, and I could see- Her. I could see Her, reflected on the floor. How- how was I supposed to know what She'd do?"

Breathe.

 

"I saw her reach into that baby’s crib, and I saw her do- something- and I heard a sound like a rasp, or, or a snap? And then… he wasn’t there anymore. His body was, was there, but **_he_ ** _was_ **_gone_ **.”

Breathe.

 

I’m crying. Spadey’s crying. No one is talking but me.

Not even the eavesdroppers, around the corner; No one is happy to have heard this truth.

Truth heralds Change; and there is no change that is comfortable, merely more or less necessary.

 

“S-so, ah. That’s when I started being afraid of Morgan. I- I don’t know what made me decide to steal them, but… I. -They felt what happened, Spadey; they felt her terrible malice, and I think… I think the only reason they didn’t _all_ die _**too** _ is because I swore to protect them, that if they could just wait long enough, they wouldn’t have to be near… Her.

They wouldn’t have to be like- me. Or you. Or poor, crazy Titania.

I Promised them they would be Free.

-That was also the Third Strike; a Fae can actually break an Oath three times in their lives before they go crazy- and that’s what Morgan was. Harriet Morgan had been steadily going insane since her infidelity with Aokiji; and then worse when she stole you but didn’t steal Ace- and that she stole at all…; and finally, Oberon. His name was Portgas D. Adamant Oberon Morgan. Harriet Morgan snuffed him out like a candle; our brother was not a candle. But, being two thirds crazy, and alone...

-It doesn’t excuse her actions, of course- not against me, or you, or Titania; but she was not well, and there was no one who could help her… I suppose, knowing this, I can find pity for the crazy unnatural monster she became, and feel sorrow for what her life became.

Anyway.

I swore to kill her, then. Didn’t- didn’t make it official until later, but- then. I- Maybe it was- there was a note in the midwifery book, about how all babies have a fifty-fifty chance, a coin flip chance that they’d be born a boy or a girl and she- she-”

I shake my head.

 

“I couldn’t take such chances. I hardly take any chances at all; but for someone’s life? No. Never. …Ach-”

I wipe my eyes with a hanky, blow my nose. Worry the cloth with my fingers. Say the rest; finish this.

 

“S-since the advent of transferal, Skuan women especially have been exercising body autonomy; some women don’t want to have babies, ever. That’s fine- it’s their choice. So, in most Skuan county-kingdoms with large medical professionals, there's at least one- they call them Matre Clinics. Um. You go there to get- prenatal care, abortions… one stop shopping.

I knew I had about three years before- Before. Before it would be too late. So- I was learning bloodmagic, remember? It was about that time we started learning to do simple surface changes; mostly just… just coloration changes; stripes, spots, and so on. Thus- the Heist. I would find eggs that hadn’t- hatched- of about the same size, and I would make them look like- well… and then I’d switch them, and… and Harriet Morgan wouldn’t kill any more of my siblings for being boys.”

I take a deep breath in, let it out slow.

 

“It was after she killed Oberon the beatings started; _that,_ I remember very well. I- I’m not sure what she told you, but… Morgan beat **all** her children, not just **_you-_ ** She beat me, she beat Titania… she maybe beat you most fiercely because- Spadille, you’re a boy. You were a boy- she’d _never_ scar her daughters, but a **_son-?”_ **

I cut myself off. Not important; shake that train of thought away, but gentle, gentle.

Focus.

 

“Or maybe you were just the scapegoat; I don’t know. I did know- I knew you **would** die, from her beatings; she’d killed a baby who **couldn’t** defend himself, a young boy that **_wouldn’t_ ** defend himself would be easy after that; and… she never struck Titania or I quite like she did you.

-I learned to put stitches in skin and the flesh underneath- how to make sure they wouldn’t get infected, the… the best way to ensure muscles would heal properly out of a book on anatomy and a book about surgical techniques and a book I was really too young to have and _on your_ **_back_ ** **,** Spadey, d’you remember that? That’s why I decided not to be a doctor- if, if this was the kind of thing doctors were expected to do… I’d do it for you, because I love you and want you to live. I am not so altruistic as to- nevermind.

...It was… it was when she flayed you open, made your back into ragged scraps of blood and flesh and sinew hanging onto bones by threads; _that’s_ when I stitched a Lie into you. “This isn’t Portgas D. Spadille Rogue; this is Aradia Stardust Morgan.”- that was the Lie.

Morgan never- she didn’t beat her daughter's, not like she did you. She had other ways of making her daughters hurt- but physical pain doesn’t really… doesn’t mean the same things to a woman as it does a man. Women are Made of Pain; it’ll take more than Pain to break one.

Titania wasn’t a girl, or a woman- and the pain She inflicted on him broke him. I… he might have been alright, if he was raised better; but he wasn’t. He was only borderline psychotic, looking back on it now; he could have been alright… but. He wasn’t.

 

“-I’m sorry. I’m sorry that the Lie I used was the only one I could think of- that’s what it’s called when you combine all the Gifts of the Fae into one the way I did, it’s called a Lie. I’m sorry I stole your Doll to make the Lie True; and I’m sorry I made us both forget what I had done. Looking back on it now- I think my thought process was that… even if I hurt you, and I Knew- **it _would_ hurt you-** even so, if you were Dead… you could grow and heal and change, become more than you were in Morgan’s captivation- but only if you were still alive.

And we were very young, besides; I was nine, maybe, and you couldn’t have been more than ten. That’s the kind of decision that grown folks can’t make good, much less children… And with how **bad** her beatings got, and how **_fast_ ** they got so bad…”

“-She would have killed me. Her crazed Rage would have had her snap my back or my spine, and I would have died.” says Spadille.

I nod.

 

“I… I honestly have no idea how the Littles were able to hold off hatching for so long; it’s why they are the way they are, I think. I- I had to move them, I knew I had to take them and just _go_ when she made you kill my cloudfox- and, and it was three years since I’d begun planning the Heist, so I was out of time anyway- there’s only so long an egg can hold off hatching before they have to come out, before they can’t stand being inside anymore. Just- there’s just not enough space or air or food- they have to get out; or they die.

So- I’d finished the changes to the- eggs marked for Death- and I had somewhere to take them to, and so one day I just… did it. It had taken me three years to plan out a Heist that would actually get the eggs out of Thuletima, the Winter Palace. And I had more or less an idea of where I’d have to take them- Tiffanyan, the Summer Palace. As for the rest…

Well. I had to steal Eggs from the Expiry Room from a Matre Clinic no one cared about, one whose records were bad enough that no one would really care to check and see if all Dead were accounted for. Which I did. I couldn’t just steal them, though- take those eggs marked for Expiry and put them in a Nest and let them hope- no, I couldn’t do that to them, it’s unethical to do that.

I **_would not_** do that.

So, I told them. I told them who I was; and why I was there; and what I needed. I asked for volunteers, who would go to a place of richness and splendor and terrible, terrible danger- and die. I asked those babies to die.

They all volunteered and I still don’t know why- but I only needed Nine, and thus, the Nine were switched.

 

“It’s too far, from Ueltima to Fiddler’s Green on foot- and all the roads and public transportations would have been watched, after the Theft. Still; if I had to go on foot, I would have gone on foot. And I had to do the journey in the time it took for the sun to rise, and rise again; during Midsummer, when Dreams are at their weakest, and the day is Long.

It's too far to go on foot; which is why I didn't go on foot.

I assume you remember Asteria-sama? Well; Morgan did teach me to fly, more or less. Asteria-sama taught me how to _flight_. And so, if I could get to the Edge, she and her multitude of daughters would carry me across the Gap to the Summer Kingdoms, and away from Winter’s grasp. In return- I could never have her, or her children, as my partner in battle; I could never have a kinsect, though it would seem I was almost born for it.

I- do you remember the turtle that bit Moda’s leg off? Right, well- did she ever tell you what happened to her- her name is Desidre; did Moda tell you?

**_Ah._ **

Well- Desidre was mean, and vicious, and pregnant- she really only wanted the best possible life for her babies, and we were too young to understand. We never understood her while she was our class pet; and, when she was our pet no longer, she was actually, genuinely evil. Still, when I asked her to carry me across the Sea, she agreed- because she understood the terrible forces driving me. In return- I would never find peace again on the Land, for she swore that upon my back the Sea Longing would find me; and to the Sea I would return, no matter what kind of life I tried to live upon the Land.

And finally- well. You know how good I’ve always been with dogs. In the Woods of Ultima Thule, there lives a Wolfshark and her sons, and her name is Morose. I guess… I think I was seven, and Mother… she left me in the woods to die, I think. I didn’t die; not then. I met Morose and her sons; and instead of eating me, they led me back to the Winter Palace and told me that if I had need of them, they would come.

As for what was promised…? That’s between me and them, and I’ll leave it at that.

Morose’s pack of wolfsharks is how I got from the Royal Forest to the Coast without being seen by anyone. Then, Desidre’s broad back and then the smaller backs of her many sons took me from the cold waters of Hurrick to the Edge of Winter. Then, I ran and leapt from back to back across the hovering chain of Asteria-sama and her many daughter's; I ran from Winter to Summer, on the backs of uncountable beetles- whom I could never see again, so long as Morgan lived.

I took the Eggs to a safe place; or Tiffanyan, which was Safer than Thuletima would ever be. I ran, and I did not look back.

 

“The fact that it happened to be the same day of the Molasses Flood was just… luck, I suppose. Sweepstakes; you’re a winner...  and in the confusion of that day, no one really noticed I wasn’t where I said I was. And then… well.

-Seven Laws, Spadille. I broke two; I Stole. I’m an Egg Thief, and a Liar, too; swore to tell the truth as I knew it, and lied anyway. It was Wrong, but I weren’t sorry for it then an’ I ain’t sorry for it now; and so, Madam sent me away, because what else can one do with an unrepentant bastard-child, but send them to school that they may learn humility and upright living through suffering and deprivation? But I did not learn what Madam wished me to; and so, it came to you, and me, and a Choice in the garden during Midwinter.

...When I got back, all the eggs were smashed open, and Titania was so- smug. He really was a monster, by then. And- well, you know… I only had, what, two days before I had to report to the Matriculation Point on Cape Verdis, aye? -That was the last time we were together outside the summertime, and with me spending so much time at the Summer Court and all the rest at school… you know the rest, I suppose. Better than me; so much I just don’t remember. So much I don’t want to remember; and that really is the least of it.”

That’s it. I’m done.

I’ve no more words to say on these matter.

 

“...Aunt Ravelle.” murmurs Spadille.

 

I nod.

 

“They- they’re safe with Aunt Ravelle, aren’t they; that’s where they’ve been this whole time, right?” he says.

“Have been since I was nine, maybe. Might be eight? Don’t remember- I think they’re all twelve, now. And yes; they’re safer than we ever were.” I say.

“And- when you went to Military School, you took your Summer Breaks with Aunt Ravelle-” he says.

“Yes. As much as I could. Morgan did insist on Spring Breaks with us- but that was to keep up appearances at Court, I think, or maybe she really did care, she was just… crazy.” I say, shaking my head.

“...And I guess the reason why the Lie wasn’t very good was because you didn’t actually know how to sew quite well enough; at the time, I mean.” he says, hand pressed over his eyes.

“Mm. ...You- you do realize you have to apologize to Lami, right? She did it because you’re her Captain- but there are some things you just shouldn’t ask your crew, or your friend, to do.” I say.

“...I know. I- I should never have asked her to do that.” he says.

“No. It was cruel, and a stain on her Honor. I understand why it had to be her- but you still shouldn’t have asked her to do that.” I say.

He sighs. Looks- ashamed. Good- but also, not. (I never trusted Aradia; but I trusted Lami.) Ah, my brother, I would give you my experience without doing anything of the kind; if it were possible to dower you with experience, without experience, I’d do it in a heartbeat. It’s not, though; ‘ _We make our own mistakes. We sleep unwisely. It is our right. It is our madness and our glory. The repetition echoes down the years. When your children grow; when your dark locks begin to silver, when you are an old man, alone with your three wild beasts, what will you see? What stories will you tell?’_ Oh, my brother; I’d give you my memories without the pain of living through the moments that made them, if I only could.

 

 

 

“What are you going to do with Morgan’s bones?” he says.

“Turn them into gold, of course. What the hell else can I do with them?” I say.

 

He sighs, but more- well, really, what was he expecting? Skuans don’t bury their dead, Vearth is too precious for that; and my rings were passed mother to daughter- as such things are- the same way our Forms are. Captain looks confused- so does Ace- and Spadey is still a bit overwrought so-

 

“-Skuans really do turn the bones of their dead into adornments? Beads and brooches and such?” says Trafalgar Law.

“Well. Yes. I mean- I’m wearing various relations now? And it’s not like we’re those weirdoes out Wes, we take the flesh off first...” I say. I wiggle my fingers. Delicate, fanciful carvings; lilies of the valley on my kin’s bones. I wear them, and I _never_ take them off.

 

Captain looks… odd. Not quite creeped out, but odd- and then like something makes perfect sense. Ace looks intrigued, like he’s remembered something he never knew. Sabo is staring at my fingers in a kind of horrified interest, before forcibly returning himself to neutrality- but I saw him do it.

 

“And I suppose Aunt Zippy made twinsie earrings for me and Ace?” he says.

“Either her or Mom- um, Aunt Ravelle, _fennuna;_ and probably me too, now that it’s all over with. -If it’s Aunt Zippy who made them, you know she’s going to grab you both as soon as she can, right...?” I say.

Spadey shakes his head. He still doesn’t believe me.

He’s about to learn him a thing or two.

 

Spadey huffs a long breath, regains his composure; turns his head to see- “-Was that woman always here?” he says, brow quirked.

I blink at him. Tilt my head.

 

“Over- there? With, ah, with the young women…?”

“Oh- firstly, the Red Haired one is a man; secondly… I. Um. Hmm.” I examine the group. There’s Bryony, who- oh dear, she needs to-

 

“Captain Trafalgar, could we have use of your facilities?” I say.

“Uh-” says Trafalgar Law.

“Your toilets and showers, primarily?” I say.

“Oh. Sure. Sachi can show whoever needs to go-?” he says.

 

Bryony slides out of her seat and looks at Sachi very hopefully. Sachi nods, and- oh, there goes Mark, and… ah. Ace.

 

“Mm- Ace, if you’re going, use the shower too- that Seastone dust on your skin needs soap and water at least to come off. Here- shampoo, conditioner, comb, brush, there’s a razor and shaving soap in there too, if you’d like to shave. Also, I have clothing that isn’t- that-?” I say.

“Oh- Oh! Um, yeah- thanks.” says Ace. I pass over his bundle of clothing; he takes it, blinks at it, and smiles- half smile?

I’m tired.

 

I turn my attention back to Taffy, who’s curled up together with [ a woman…? ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/e6/4e/de/e64ede3c60122f7b1e8cc0ac0384737d.jpg) Her dress is of the ancient style, her body- movement? Rippling, like waves of… grass… oh. _Oh._

 

“In answer to your question, Spadey- either her sword was a woman before she was a sword, or she was a sword before she was a woman.” I say.

 

Spadey looks at me. Sabo looks at me. Trafalgar Law looks at me, then at Taffy and her sword, Kusanagi, and back at me.

Dracule Mihawk is choking on his punch.

I swallow the rest of mine down, and pour myself a draught of water. I drink it.

Oh, this is a good combination, fruit in the water is tasty.

 

 

Dracule Mihawk is rubbing his face clear of the shock of learning that Taffeta is, in fact, Worthy of the Kusanagi; and then he sighs. He takes another drink of his punch, ladles himself some more. Glances at the quietly chattering Taffy and Kusanagi, and shakes his head in bemusement and amusement and just a touch of shock.

It’s been one of those days, dude. I understand.

Ace returns, clean of seastone metal dust and facial hair below his nose, hair still a bit wet but combed clean and neat- wearing boots socks shorts underwear a shirt- a shirt? Oh, [ Spadey’s shirt ](https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/31CrN%2B7WxzL._SY450_.jpg) unbuttoned like a v-neck shirt- and the jacket I made him. He’s- wearing it. Oh.

 

“So- you made these for me? Uh- Mab, right?” Ace says.

“That’s my name- and yes, everything but the shirt, the boots, and the knives.” I say.

“Knives?” he says.

“Oh, did I not- damn, hang on-” I dig into my bag again- oh, and might as well pull out- “Okay, so- these were made by Portgas D. Alberich Ravelle for you- the long knife is called Shōbō-shi, and the boot knife is Kirameki. They aren’t weapons- your weapon won’t be done for a good month; they’re utility knives. Still, a knife is a knife- if you need to shank a bitch or cut a motherfucker, they’ll do you right. Ah- I wasn’t able to save the body of your hat, but… is, ah. Is it alright?” I say.

“Oh- uh. Yeah, I- thank you. ...I thought you said my hat is ugly?” he says.

“I did, and it is. But- it’s _your_ hat, not mine. Just because **I** hate the ugly thing doesn't mean you do, after all. And- the fish kinda… digested it a bit? The beads and buttons and the… the skull-thing were fine, but… Ah, and your necklace is in the hat- um. So, I made you a new one and I guess you liked that old one- the hat I mean, so. It’s similar enough, I think. Restrung the necklace too.” I say, shrugging.

 

Ace blinks at me. He looks a bit like I did the first time a fish hit me over the head. Captain is- grinning with shining eyes…? Captain’s weird- no, it’s Sabo too? And Spadille? Um- oh! Oh, it’s that squishy feeling you get when- when you see your kids doing something really… amazing. Or the feeling when you see something kind? The feeling I had when I saw Ace wearing the jacket I made for him. _Oh._

I mean- I don’t think I’m actually going to apologize for dragging his old outfit. There was almost no visual coherence to it, and dammit, he can do better than that. But his hat really isn’t that bad. I mean. It’s just a hat.

 

Anyway- There’s something else I need to- Right! Books, then Dolls.

 

“Ah. So, these are- these are the written histories of- us. Portgas, Morgan, and what little we could find of Gol; it’s all here. Ah- this brown one is mine, and the green one is Spadey’s… Captain’s is red, Ace gets the yellow, and… Shall I say your name or just give you the book?” I say, looking at Sabo.

“Uh- just give me the book.” says Sabo.

 

I nod and give him the book.

Finally- all my most pressing duties are fulfilled.

There are a few other things to attend to; stripping the flesh from Morgan’s bones and tithing it to the Wolves who once helped me flee Thuletima, ensuring the party is going to go well, land distribution...

But before all of that… I think I have just enough finesse for this. I unwrap the broken Doll. Her hair is melted into a clump of protein; her clothes are rags. Her body is all broken to pieces, and the tone Dial- the little music shell has maybe one more play in it before it falls apart too. I- hmm.

Spadey is rummaging in his jacket- but why- oh _what._ He just handed me his hair-

 

“Spadey, are you sure-?” I ask.

“I trust you, Mab.” he says.

I blink back tears of my own. I pull out his violin in it's case, which makes him start shaking-

"This is yours. I kept it, because- well, you know why. Take it back, would you?"

"-Yes. Oh yes."

He holds it like it's his own child- but no, I know what it is. It's an untainted piece of his own soul, possibly the only part of himself that Morgan never hurt, that she never touched- because she _knew_. There are some things, after all, you can't teach your children- or you shouldn't. Morgan taught me and Spadey how to be afraid, and she shouldn’t have; but she left the teaching of music, and the proper way to praise God, to teaching musicians.

 

 

“Hm. Rouge sang a lullabye, right? That’s what was in the doll’s stomach- [ Rouge’s Lullabye? ](https://youtu.be/r6IA0kKUTso)” says Dracule Mihawk.

 

I nod. The tone dial gives up the ghost, and a wavery voice fills the air with a few bars of the song. It’s- still her. It’s still her. Somehow, the other two- because who else would have been with her to sing this?- they've been combined into one plinking sound, mournful and slightly off-key. And yet- it's _still her._

Dracule Mihawk sighs.

I've met him maybe twice before in my life- that we actually had a conversation, I mean. He's young, still; only just settling into being an adult, when I last saw him and it’s not quite settled into him now, either. There are touches of unfinished growth here and there- his nose hasn't quite settled, his eyes are a touch too big- he's younger than you'd expect from looking at him, stoicism and austerity lending an air of maturity he still hasn't quite earned. All in all, I'm closer to being an adult than he is, and I'm twenty years old.

He’s got nearly twice that on me; he was in his twenties when I was just being born.

 

“Gol D. Roger was my Captain for… maybe half a year, before the End, [ in the rain ](http://vignette4.wikia.nocookie.net/onepiece/images/c/c3/Dracule_Mihawk_at_Age_19.png/revision/latest?cb=20130120232351) . But the person who taught me to sail, how to use a sword- introduced me to my weaponsmith, Portgas D. Alberich Ravelle- that was Rouge. Rouge was my Captain- Rouge was always my Captain. She actually took me on when I was… ten, I think? We sailed for eight years before she sent me to look after Roger. Anyway- she only ever really sang the one lullabye, same as Mrs. Ravelle.” He sets a… _holy shit._

 

It’s a Tone Dial- well cared for, stark clear white and smooth.

I stare at it, and him- and then a small thing clicks into the larger whole.

 

“Morgan hurt you too, aye.” I say.

 

He nods.

 

“She’s the one who lead the search for Ace, all those years ago- and when Captain’s message reached me, she had already- Captain had already died, and Captain Roger was two years gone; Morgan was the one who held me together, after. I- I couldn’t do it. I knew- she had done such evil things, but I- I couldn’t do it.” he says. He’s crying.

 

“And- you loved Rouge too, aye. You loved them both.” I say.

“Captain was the kind of person it’s easy to love.” he says. He seems- small. Crumpled on himself, like… like something that was holding him up is all fallen down. He sighs again, deeper this time. The brim of his hat casts a deep shadow over his yellow eyes.

“The worst thing about Morgan- and Captain, too- it wasn’t- they weren’t _always_ **bad**.” he almost whispers. “Captain Roger was the best Captain I ever had- and I don’t mean because he was so great, because he wasn’t. When it gets to the truth of things, all three of them could be assholes- but... But the people who raised me, taught me what it really meant to be a man, and what Duty and Honor really mean... That was Morgan and Rouge.

-I’m sorry. I owe the three of you a debt of Honor- I… I could not kill her. Roger died; Rouge died; Morgan lived, and...” he stops. Shakes his head. “I owe you, especially, Portgas D. Mab Tailor Morgan, a debt of honor. You carried out my Captain’s final wish when I could not; for that, I cannot repay you. This, perhaps, might be a small token-”

 

I hold up my hand, flat to him. He stops talking. I lean back, espy Bryony and Taffeta and Mark and probably Kusanagi, but I need-

 

“Bryony, come here please. I’ve a job for you.”

“Ah- yes, of course…?”

“This is the last intact copy of Portgas D. Rouge’s Lullabye- I need, let me see; Mihawk- no, scratch Mihawk- Ace Spadey Mab Ezra Ophiuchus Amberjack Attwell Gable Ciconia Felix Dory Tigerlily- twelve. I need twelve copies of the song on this Tone Dial made, and sharpish, and without damaging the original at all. Can you do that?”

“Oh. Yes, right away- won’t take more than… twenty minutes, tops.”

“Good. Thank you.”

“Sure, no problem.”

 

I examine the doll further. I reach into my bag, pull out things I’ve had since I was… mm. Ten? Talk while you work, Mab. First, the drawings. No- first, have some water. Then- drawing, in my sketchbook, with a pencil.

 

“Dracule Mihawk, I will not take your Captain’s love from you- because that’s not something that can be taken. You were marked as hers forever, as soon as you made the agreement to follow her; I can no more come between that than I can cease the tides following the moons. Nor will I trade for it- there is no equal to love in all the world, no matter what a story might say.” I say.

 

_Scritch scritch scritch._

 

“Morgan was… not well. The only people who could have understood her died; and you were little more than a child, yourself, when your Captain asked of you such a terrible thing. And- I suppose you were fond of Morgan, too; it’s easy to forget some of the terrible things she did, in the face of her kindness and generosity. Rouge and Morgan were friends before Roger ever showed his stupid mustached face- you must have known her before it all went so wrong, before she worked such evil into the weft of the World. I don’t consider it a failing that you could not put aside your heart, when duty and honor came for you- in the end, duty and honor are hard, jagged things that offer no succor, nor comfort, nor relief- and oftimes, not even grim satisfaction.” I say. Honor offers only ashes, and my kin’s severed heads.

If I could be honorless and live, too, I think I would. But I cannot.

 

 

I gather and sort doll parts in my bag; the ones I want are painted and sorted into full sets, to save time. I also pull out heavy duty elastics, and one of my smaller cloud multitools. Take one of the full sets of parts- I really don’t know how to answer him, yet.

Doll parts on the table, arranged neatly. Doll clothes- Pinafore- no, classic white. And a lovely, tiny hair-flower; petticoat, underwear, undershirt; boots? No, sandals. And a tiny little bag, for the shell. Hm- ah, there it is. I may have mentioned that I get bored? That’s always been true. So, uh. I used to make and collect dolls? And doll things? And uh. Well.

I’m sure in the lower Blues Dolls are just dolls, just- toys. Up in Skua, though, they’re… they’re about as close to caskets and tombs as we get, aside from charnel fields and charnellements and charnel houses and the catacombs, aye; Floria, aye. About fifteen minutes after Bryony went off to copy Rouge’s Lullaby, there are fourteen dolls sitting, standing, walking around, and making a game attempt at climbing my Captain, who is delighted by this turn of events. Ace is gazing at them all in quiet horror mixed with longing; while Sabo has covered his mouth in amusement. Does he not realize who they all are? It’s when I start pulling out the more… experimental dolls that Trafalgar Law starts paying attention.

 

“Mab, you fuckin’ werido.” says Spadille.

“Well. Yeah.” I say.

 

Because, there on the table- Trafalgar Lami, Perona Clyde, Moda with her eight legs- including the one the evil class pet turtle, Desidre, bit off, which I ringed in gold when it grew back over the next year- and Young Conis, with all her feathers still intact.

 

“Who is that?” says Trafalgar Law, pointing at Trafalgar Lami.

“Trafalgar Lami.” “Trafalgar Lami.” say Spadille and I at the same time.

 

Trafalgar Law blinks.

 

“Anyway- Dracule Mihawk… I suppose there is no real way to wipe away the debt between us- except by asking you to pay it forward. There’s no way to pay me back; no way to pay Spadey back- and your inaction at Marineford saved Ace’s life, if he counts such as Fair. But- if, in the future, you see an opportunity to be of assistance to young people in need, you take it; and if that results in you becoming a teacher or a father, so be it. This is your task until the end of your days- fulfil it, and I’ll count the debt between us paid. My brothers may have another price to ask of you- but this is mine.” I say. Didn’t I make- aha, there it is.

 

Leopard spots in my Devil Fruit’s shadow over the doll’s painted pieces, similar enough to Trafalgar Law but not the same because none of them are actually the same- if you know the people they’re based off of it’s very obvious and if you don’t it’s not. Pull the paint and ink and color out into the shadow and what’s left behind- white clouded leopard pattern on normal skin tone, just a touch more green in the skin because I only knew that Lami had a brother and the inference was that they would look quite similar. (They do.) Blue-black hair, stitch it onto the head with my hands. Clip, clip, clip- yeah, that’s about right.

(I’ve had a weird death-fixation most of my life, for obvious reasons. It’s why I’ve got shrouds for my crewmates, and coffins waiting for my siblings in the shape of our mama, Rouge. I’m- a little twisted. I can admit that. I can also say that- that after Morgan did what she did to my poor baby brother, it was I, with Matron's help (and Matron was killed for helping) that took him, bound in a white sheet, to the Catacombs where he was laid to rest on the banks of a deceptively shallow river. His grave is one of many, marked by stacks of cobbles reaching ever higher- one of many, as I said. In the end, Death is the promised Fate of all who would live.)

Spadey says something to Mihawk; Captain is waltzing his hand around with one of the dolls, probably Ophiuchus’, and Trafalgar Law is- drawing himself in my sketchbook? Um- Oh,[ tattoos ](http://vignette2.wikia.nocookie.net/onepiece/images/d/d6/SBS71_3_Law_Tattoos.png/revision/latest?cb=20130809032319). I look at him, raise a brow. He raises one back, then nods. I nod, and- haven’t gotten rid of the paint, heat treat with a Heat Dial, turns all the stuff- black. Paint the doll’s tattoo’s on, and seal it in- there. Neat. Got some left over- oh there’s that jumpsuit. Spots on the suit, seal. Underwear-

 

“Yellow-orange shirt, please.” says Trafalgar Law.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” he says.

“Okay. -I’m making this for Lami, you understand.”

“I do.” he says.

“I- could make you one if you wanted? I'm leaving her with you- you've a right to it, I mean- she's not dead, just-”

“I… yeah. Thank you? But um- In Fairness, for what would you make one for me?” he says.

“Um- maybe a blood test? For me and Spadey and Ace, so there’s no… guessing. Um. Can you do that?”

“...Actually, yes. Been needing a reason to use that equipment anyway-” he says.

 

 

“-You joined the Defanged Dogs to try to kill Morgan, aye?” says Spadey.

Dracule Mihawk nods.

“...and it nearly smothered your soul, aye?” says Spadey.

He nods, but smaller.

“Then here’s my price- you must cease your association with the Marines in that capacity. Obeying your Captain and crushing your soul cannot be the same thing, or you risk killing the part of yourself that your Captain was drawn to. For you and I to be Fair, you must not seek your own destruction- an’ the wheel bends, it shall find you, but you must not seek it by crushing yourself. You want to wipe away the debt between us? Live. There’s my price.”

 

Sabo is reading his book avidly, his face a study of quickly smothered contortions. He’d be fun to watch at parties. Captain is still dancing with Ophiuchus’ doll, but they’ve graduated to a foxtrot, now. I pull out the nailpolishes from the women’s dorms, because- aha, Bryony’s done.

 

“There’s no debt between you and I, Dracule Mihawk. My siblings ask of you enough, I think. Though, if you truly feel you have more to pay… get some professional counseling. That helped me a lot, after- and suffering… it’s a temporary thing, if you let it be such. This is no price- you’ve cleared your debt with me, quite Fair- but I request, one man to another, that you get some help for yourself. You won’t be able to pay my siblings back without it- not my brother or my sisters. -and, um. Considering what happened, you really should pay up as best you can. The Fae aren’t terribly forgiving to those who break their Oaths.” says Ace. Oh! My brother is sweet.

 

“Hm. I suppose I must be content with living, and suffering, and living, rather than some quest for my death.” says Dracule Mihawk.

 

At this, I smile, and say perhaps the kindest thing I can.

 

“Dracule Mihawk, does not the punishment fit the crime? You promised you would kill a woman, and you could not- and now, you must live and suffer the consequences of your actions. Let it never be said that Mab Tailor, Queen of Maggots, would deny a man his education.” I say.

 

Dracule Mihawk snorts. Smiles.

 

“You are _just like Captain,_ Mab Tailor.” he says.

“Ah- thank you?” I say.

I'm not sure how to feel about that; I'm usually described in... less favorable terms, when compared to my Mama Rouge. I'm not as pretty as she was, or as... I don't light up a room when I walk in, I'm not Seelie like she was. I'm Unseelie, I always have been and Morgan was so- disappointed, that I was, that I am. Morgan was always disappointed that I wasn't Rouge, and that Spadey wasn't- Ace.

For something like that... there's really no fixing it.

 

And most importantly of all; Portgas D. Rouge was an awful person, and I’m apparently just like her. So- I guess that makes me awful too?

Nah.

If I’m awful, it’s by my own demerits, not by comparison to someone who is long dead.

 

 

Bryony brings over the Tone Dials. I take Mihawk’s Dial, turn it to a big white section. I paint a makeup sponge with yellow nailpolish, dab dab dab dab. Dab dab dab- yeah, good color. Set that down to dry- do the others, geometric designs, curling waves, [ white Flevance patterns](https://rlv.zcache.com/cute_vintage_dutch_delft_blue_floral_pattern_melamine_plate-raaab854e321a487298a7c99ffe021ff7_ambb0_8byvr_324.jpg) because I'm thinking about it now and oh, Law's face is a picture.

Go back to Mihawk's dial. Tape, tape tape tape tape wax drip drip tape. Dab green dab dab dab green dab dab dab dab. Dab red dab dab dab dab dab dab dab. Peel! Let it dry. Tiny little bags, one for each shell. White paint- not quite Flevance white, but nothing is or should be. Tiny detail brush. Trace, trace, traaaaace- dot dot dot dot dot. Let it dry, put the glossy topcoat over the painted shells. Let everything dry; gloss Mihawk’s shell. Let it dry.

[ Done. ](http://images.fineartamerica.com/images/artworkimages/mediumlarge/1/hibiscus-abstract-julie-senf.jpg)

 

Mihawk’s doll daintily steps over. I’ve dressed her [ like Rouge](http://vignette2.wikia.nocookie.net/onepiece/images/3/3c/Portgas_D._Rouge_Anime_Color_Scheme.png/revision/latest?cb=20150720173139), down to the flower and the sandals. As near as I can figure, that's what she wore during her active days, and that didn't really change when she went into hiding- people don't really notice a woman in a frilly dress until _after_ they've been fucked over, and in those days people were far too embarrassed to mention that a fluffy woman had taken them for such a ride.

The shells are dry; each doll stops what they’re doing, grabs a bag and their shell, and carefully climb back into the shadowy part of my bag. Save- ah; Ace’s, Spadey’s, mine, and Mihawk’s. I shove my sketchbook over towards Trafalgar Law, hand off my pencil. Tiny!Rouge heaves Mihawk’s shell into it’s bag, and then the bag over her shoulder, and then she stomps over in front of him and cocks a hip. Dracule Mihawk accepts his memory back with a soft smirk of autumn. (The one that acknowledges both the sorrow and humor of understanding that tomorrows will come regardless of your beloved’s presence- or absence.)

 

Ace catches the [ pink haired doll](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/09/7a/c2/097ac24787392ffc7cf50d43b968e0ea.jpg) that leaps into his lap with a soft grin. Spadey’s [ blonde haired doll](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/9a/e5/62/9ae5623b3ba8c7df207424d887a17bb7.jpg) settles into the curve of his arm. My brothers dolls are very clearly of a kind; same hairstyle, same dress. Mine [ is not](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/af/ba/01/afba0116383b204922244f4a2bc7b09d.jpg)\- of the dolls I assembled today, it is only mine that looks so… human. Rouge was just a human woman; nothing less or more. One day, perhaps, all the dolls I made will say their names; but for now, they are nameless.

 

“-Anyway. Where are we going?” I say.

“Oh, I asked Traffy-” says Captain.

“-well, at least he’s not calling me Totoro-” says Trafalgar Law.

“-to take us to Amazon Lily.” says Captain.

“Ah. I should call Aunt Zippy, let her know where we’re going- Mm, Ace, d’you wanna meet Aunt Ravelle?”

“Um. Yeah, sure.” says Ace.

“Cool- Aunt Zippy’s going to pierce your ears, and if the Bluebeak's fucked with your tattoo, she’s going to touch it up. **Prepare yourself.** Oh, Spadey, you should probably call your Baes and let them know you’re not naked. Or dead. Or naked and dead, which is arguably worse. You can use one of our phones, yeah?”

“Oh- oh! Yeah- yeah, thank you.” says Spadey.

 

Scra _m_ ble leaps onto the table, releases our phones with a splort, then leaps for Captain. Luffy catches her and gives her a warm and friendly cuddle. I prod Spadey with my foot, gesture to the snail-phones with my eyebrows. Spadey nods. I nod.

I dig around in my bag, pull out Captain’s reading glasses and the book he’s only half finished; hand them across the table. Captain grins, takes his entertainment, puts his glasses on, and settles in to read his book. Sabo glances up, jerks, and stares at Luffy. Luffy is busy reading his book, so he doesn’t notice his brother’s incredulity. Tuner has slimed themselves onto Trafalgar Law’s shoulder, and is nuzzling against his neck. He looks a bit...

 

“Yeah, that one does that. They’re just a little too fast to really keep off, but if you don’t want ‘em on your shoulder, just hold ‘em in your hand- or you can hand ‘em to me, maybe? -Also, if you wouldn’t mind flipping the rocker switch?” I ask.

“Oh. Uh- here.” he hands Tuner over, switch flipped. Tuner looks up at me with their big black eyes and their stark white shell and their dopey grin and _who’s a good snail! You are! Yes you are!_

Focus!

Focus.

 

Call your Aunt Zippy, Mab.

 

* * *

 

You know that really awkward feeling you get when you accidentally behead your wielder? It turns out that remembering how to use your Hito Hito no Mi, Model: Onna; is just like that. **Listen.** I’m old as balls, alright? I’ve forgotten more shit about- just, everything- than most people ever learn.

But I have learned this.

Dracule Taffeta is a good girl with gentle manners and the kind of steel to really use me as intended- a sword that cuts down other blades like grass, and at all other times, a simple tool. She's not a swordfighter; she's a clown. I have been the companion of many swordfighters- never a clown. My current favorite sheathed use by her is as a poking-weird-shit stick, closely followed by a leaping-up-on-things brace and a backscratcher. -She’s also warm and soft-touchy and good for the hugging- er, being hugged to? Her wings are silky soft and fluffy, and her little wing claws are very good at gripping me securely. As of- oh, a few hours ago- she really needed hugging- not being hugged to, she herself needed hugging. She’s- she’s one of the best friends I’ve ever had, and it’s my failure that it took me so long to remember how to use the dark magic of ambulatory limbs, and then longer still to recall how to hug her back.

But I’ve been hugging her back ever since I remembered- and, and with Miss Keimi so injured… I just want to have my partner’s back, is all. So, hugging, and talking to her when she talks to me. She's not crazy- I'm not a voice in her head. And now, I'm _really_ not a voice in her head.

 

“I don’t want to fight the scary sword dude, Kusanagi.”

“I know.”

“I have no desire to be the Greatest of anything.”

“I’ve done it before- ‘s boring as shit, once you get there.”

“Exactly! I- I just want to be the best Taffeta, right? And- AH! Since when are you a person that can hug back?!?”

“Eh, turns out I could always do that- ate the Hito Hito, Model: Onna. But I was always a sword; was a sword before I was a woman, I think, and uh. It’s actually really hard to properly drown a sword.”

“So, basically, you forgot you could do that.”

“Mmmyep.”

“Kusanagi-chan!”

“Shufufufufufufufu-!”

 

Even though I’ll outlive her, probably- might not, one never knows these things for sure- but. Even so, I really want to be here for her, for as long as she’s here to be there for. I- I love her, I think. Not like she and Miss Keimi might end up loving each other- like... My green heart will ever beat for my Lady's Will. Like  _ that. _

 

* * *

 

We get to Amazon Lily sometime in the middle of the next morning, a bit after midnight. I still can’t sleep- I stole a mountain, I won’t be able to sleep until after I place it- or place it’s pieces. It’s a huge weight on my mind, alright. Oh god that was a pun, holy shit I’m tired.

Real talk? Without my skills; my crew, and my family, would be naked and dead. Naked or dead? Certainly one of the two, possibly even both- which is a state of affairs to be avoided, I think. I’ve handed off the job of party planner to my Aunt Zippy and my sisters because goddamit I’ve got an entire mountain’s worth of land to distribute; so.

So.

As I set up couches, rugs, tables, and various hanging banners because my Aunt Zippy has Firm Views and there’s only so many times a person can get hit with that look; she’s got this look- oh, Captain’s found my lounger, good. And Mihawk’s sleeping on a stack of rugs, cool. Cool cool cool.

Ace and Spadey have hung their jackets on the coat rack I set out just for that purpose and they’re flopped out on the extra squishy soft rug. Oh good, they put their boots on the shoe rack, put on fresh socks because Spadey remembers what happened last time he tracked dirt onto my nice clean rugs, I put down the drop cloth for a reason. Hmhmhm!

And- Trafalgar Law took the other lounger and is napping- no, he’s sketching. Okiedokie- right, he did do that blood test. Let me just set up a lamp for him, then- he blinks as the moonlight turns warm, then blinks again when I offer him a nice blanket to huddle under. He accepts it with a half smirk. I nod, then march my way over to Ace and Spadey with my purse over one arm because-

 

“Ace, Spadey, lemme just- up for a second? Thank you-”

 

Unfold the Morgan quilt, toss each one their quilt, and take Ace by the hand. I put his hand on his name- Portgas D. Ace Ariel Morgan; I speak it only to him. It’s only family and people who wouldn’t care either way here, so it’s quite safe to do so; for a number of reasons.

 

“And yours is- Oh. Portgas D. Mab Boudicca Tailor Morgan; and that’s… Portgas D. Spadille Rouge Morgan. Why’s he got- Oh.”

“He was born yesterday, Ace. You were born today. So you’re the younger, of you two- and I am youngest, I was born in April-”

 

\- Aunt Zippy arrives on the scene with her usual lack of fanfare.

 

“-Good, you’ve shown him the Morgan Quilt. I’ve the Portgas Quilt- and I’ve finished[ all three of your earrings ](https://img0.etsystatic.com/020/0/8290175/il_340x270.480734134_be5c.jpg), I’ll attend to them momentarily- you boys go on and have a rest while your sister finishes up her business, you’ve all had a simply dreadful time of it. Mab, come on and help me set out food while you think things over, you know how our family gets-”

“Yes Aunt Zippy.” It’s not worth the argument.

 

And, more importantly, the day I can’t think and use my hands at the same time is probably the day I die. This is how Boa Hancock finds us- the various men engrossed in sleeping, drawing in the last of the moonlight with the assistance of a lamp, and reading engrossing books; and us women busily setting out various foodstuffs and thinking over land distribution. I mean- I wouldn’t ask my Captain to do this because he’d eat the food before setting out the empty plates like we wouldn’t notice, and Spadey’s not much better- though he would at least wash them… and Ace and Sabo don’t really- I don’t think they’ve had the kind of training to do this right? I mean… it’s not like they can, either.

Aunt Zippy intercepts and handily steamrolls right over Boa Hancock’s argument, whatever it is- I ignore it, and soon find myself unpacking and laying out food shoulder to shoulder with her and her sisters. I take one look at their slightly guilty faces, and say-

 

“Aunt Zippy gave y’all that **look,** didn’t she.”

“Hmph. As if a mere glance could sway one as beautiful as I!” says Boa Hancock.

“Mhmm- your beauty is surely beyond compare, Boa Hancock. And she definitely gave you **_that_ look.”**

“-How does she make her eyes do that- that thing?!?” says the [ green haired sister ](http://vignette3.wikia.nocookie.net/fictionalfighters/images/a/a2/Boa-Sandersonia.png/revision/latest?cb=20150630055528).

“Her eyes were so _sad-”_ says the [ red haired sister ](http://static1.comicvine.com/uploads/scale_medium/4/47703/2962467-luffy_muss_sich_sandersonia_und_marigold_stellen.jpg).

“I don’t know, but Aunt Ravelle’s is **worse.”** I say.

“There’s worse-!” they all hiss together.

I nod, solemnly. “Aunt Ravelle doesn’t even use her eyes to give people **that look** , she just has her voice and _harmonics._ Still, it’s nice to have a mindless task to engage my hands in while I think things over...” I murmur. “Also, she’s going to- yep, there she goes-”

 

Aunt Zippy is bawling out Trafalgar Law because his tattoos are not to her Standards. Mhm. And there goes his hoodie, and now he’s on the ground and-

 

 ** _“Oh my.”_** say all three snakey sisters.

“Aunt Zippy takes some things very, very seriously- good tattoo work, for example. She did the ones on my neck-” I say.

“Oh, wow, they’re lovely~!” says the red head.

“Ah, thank you. Aunt Zippy also doesn’t give a shit about things like personal space, and she’s old and crazy enough to get away with it- see, he just tried to use his Devil Fruit on her and it did _nothing._ Also, note her pinning technique, she restrains his legs with just one of her own, and the other is rooted to the ground-” I say.

“-Oh my, that’s a marvelous technique; I’ve seen one other like it.” says the greenet.

Boa Hancock doesn’t say anything, but- I gently take the casserole that was in very real danger of hitting the ground. Her legs are pressed together, and the bright flush on her face- Ah.

I Look over at Captain. He Looks back at me, gazes at Boa Hancock, and shudders; shakes his head “no no no”. I nod.

“Still, though her standards of beauty are without fault… there is something to be said for the subtler things.” I say.

“Oh-?” says Boa Hancock.

“Well- if it be love, even the most hideous of features become merely facets of the whole. An’ if it ain’t, such hideous things will repel even the kindest of souls.” I say.

“...Oh.” says Boa Hancock.

I'm not good at most social interactions, but being a good wingman is something I've had extensive experience in. Aunt Zippy has, in the span of our conversation, finished Trafalgar Law’s tattoo touch ups, and completely ignored his blushing stalk off into the woods because argh argh argh no, no I’m not thinking about that, I have limits. His sister was very- no, no, I like Sanji, and I don’t feel right even looking at other men without talking to him about it first and- uuuurgh.

 

I have limits.

 

 

Aunt Zippy does not have limits.

 

 

As I lay out platter after platter and assemble yet more tables and lay down even more drop cloths and bluntly ignore the crash course in BDSM my Aunt Zippy is giving Boa Hancock and her sisters- to Boa’s bright interest and her sisters delight- argh argh argh, I’m- I’m really not into that. Land distribution. OW OW EARS DAMMIT AUNT ZIPPY OW- alright, it’s actually just surprising, she did it fast enough for it to not be all that bad. Ow. Oh, she already got Ace- he looks a bit befuddled; oh, right, he wouldn’t know that Rouge made these for each of her children but didn’t get to carve mine- so I guess Aunt Zippy carved them for me? I don’t know what she even carved, though, she moved too fast to see… Considering what’s in Ace’s ears, probably flowers?

Anyway. Consider land distribution. Floria will get a chunk because Floria genuinely needs it; followed by the White White Sea- actually, considering the Hurricane, Conis already took her tithe; so… divise by two? Floria cannot support the whole- aaaaaAAAAH!

 

“HELLo, Moda.”

“Hello, Mab.”

“Please stop cuddling me like- aw, no, don’t just hand me your skwids-”

“Thank you, need to talk to Ace now, bye-”

“Moda!”

 

-and it’s too late, she’s gone. God _ **dammit**_ Moda. Although- no, sit down before you fall over. I stagger towards the still empty recliner, Law hasn’t come back yet. I flip his hoodie up out of the dirt and carefully ease myself down into his seat. I just cleaned my spear, but go ahead and stab it into the ground, fucking- No. If I get mad like I want, I’ll scare the babies.

No scaring babies, Mab.

Hang Law’s hoodie on the Spear, and just- rest. For a bit.

Law wanders back, calmed quite down- and yes, he’s still pretty like his sister but… damn, I really do love Sanji. Law’s pretty like a painting, but Sanji is the field; and I’ll always take the field over a picture.

He takes me reclining on the lounger with three babies in, snorts, and takes his hoodie off my spear, shrugs back into it. Dusts my sketchbook off from where some pine needles were sticking to it, then closes it, and considers how to tuck it into my purse, which I’ve been nuzzling against his leg. It makes little begging animal whines up at him- and he says “You want it? You want the book? Go get it!” and throws it.

My purse scampers off with a whoop.

Law realizes I saw him do this, and-

 

“You are just _exactly_ like your sister, Trafalgar Law.”

“I- what, really?”

“Sure. Sarcastic, bit of an asshole, eyes like fire and broken glass, playful when no one’s watching; the difference is your focus of medicine, I think. Lami’s an obstetrician-gynecologist, and a midwife, and you’re a surgeon and a doctor. S’different.”

“Well.”

“I mean, you’re both very pretty-”

“Okay, thank you.”

“-with lovely bone structure-”

“-I need to check on Miss Keimi-”

“-AND SHE HAS LOVELY CHILD-BEARING HIPS I’VE SEEN THEM-”

“-JUST MAIL THE CORPSE-DOLL TO ME. **GOODBYE, MAB TAILOR!”**

I close my eyes and cackle.

 

 

 

 

The party steadily expands around me; Spadey’s crew’s here now, the Freebird Pirates, as is Moda’s- the Blue Ring Pirates; Lami’s nuns are setting up a first aid station- nice! That’s the Moon Pirates. Oh, there’s the half of Perona’s crew that wasn’t involved in the Tithe; the Daydreamer Pirates, I think. (Making the other half the Nightmare Pirates, because Symmetry.) I don’t recognize that voice- which means it must be Jewelry Bonney, and her crew, the Seafood Pirates. Oh, there’s a pun there, I can sense it.

All that’s missing is Keimi, and the entire Two Fish Merchant Group’s headship would be here.

Like I said; Spadey’s one of the only people I can think of who wants to take the title of Yonko and can also make a legacy out of it.

After all, he’s the only person I know of who can really make me sweat in a game of Go.

 

 

I crack open my eyes again to see- Moda, and Ace; Moda gently leading Ace over. I smirk up at my brother, who looks like he got hit in the head with a large fish, and also like he’s about to cry. It’s not yet dawn; soon, but not yet.

 

“Trade?”

“-yeah.” says Ace, in a soft, choked voice. I hand him Guppy, ease out of the lounger with Theodora and Theodosia; Ace takes a seat, and I hand him the other two. He looks like he’s about to fall apart- I understand the feeling. And then- he looks at me. Something in his eyes- firms. Shifts.

I look at his babies, and then at Ace, and then I nod, once.

He nods back.

I smile, a bit grimly, and then take my spear and leave him to it, hook arms with Moda and tug us towards- there’s a nice pine tree right by the lounger, should give us a good vantage point for everything- and I’ll have ample space to clean my spear…

 

* * *

 

I thought I understood why Mab- my sister, I have a sister, I have ten sisters and if it wasn’t for Mab I might have none at all- I thought I understood why she killed Morgan… I thought I got it. I didn’t know a goddamn thing. But- after holding Theo, Dora, and Desia, I got it. I- how could anyone hurt something so small?

They really are tiny and helpless, I- who would ever want to- If Dadan really hadn’t wanted to keep me around, I would’ve been- they’re so small and they can’t defend themselves and- Morgan did and Akainu would, Akainu was named a Vice Admiral for actions he took during the effort to find me as a baby, but Mab… Mab killed him too.

I… I’d- no, Moda said it plain; if they’re like her, the government will stop at absolutely nothing to have them under their control or killed. Me being their father, on balance, means less than nothing because- because Moda can talk to Sea Kings. So could her mother, and her grandmother, and her cousins and- I. Oh god, I’d upend the world for those three- four, but… Is, is this how Pops feels about us? I- so much makes sense now, I can’t-

 

Moda can upend the world herself if she’s of a mind for it. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to do that, but for them, I’d make myself be strong enough. Isn't that what love is? I held them- didn't know they were them but I held them all the way to Captain Trafalgar Law's ship, and-

Isn't this what love is?

 

 

After the understanding I shared with Mab, I had to have another lie down- not a full nap, Aunt Zippy pierced my ears before I could really sleep and now I’m too- awake. This time, Spadey- Spadille, my brother, I have a twin brother and he looks just like me- ended up sitting next to me, talking to his… his Third Division Commander, Moda. In the course of their conversation, Moda nearly drops Dora twice, bounces Dosia, and doesn’t seem to notice Theo’s getting upset at being ignored, so I take them and cuddle with them- which seems to be exactly what she wanted me to do. Shit, she’s already training me like she wants. Although- for this, I think I’ll be okay. Yeah, this isn’t so bad.

I must’ve closed my eyes for a second, or maybe fell asleep; when I opened my eyes again, Moda’s head was pillowed on my stomach, and my head was on a pillow, and Spadey was napping next to me. A pink haired woman was yelling at… a pine tree- and now she’s floating and the pine tree is- oh, it’s Mab. I… guess they’re friends?

Hm.

 

Trafalgar Law is saying something to a woman in blue tiger stripes- oh, Trafalgar Lami- TRAFALGAR!- and sonnet, the rhythm of what they're saying is a sonnet I think? I don’t know much about poetry, but… that's what it feels like.

 

_( **LAW**_

_Do I stand there? I never had a brother;_

_Nor can there be that deity in my nature,_

_Of here and every where. I had a sister,_

_Whom the blind bombs and fires have devour'd._

_Of charity, what kin are you to me?_

_What countryman? what name? what parentage?_

_**LAMI** _

_Of Flevance: Trafalgar Law was my father;_

_Such a Trafalgar Law was my brother too,_

_So went he suited to his black’ning tomb:_

_If spirits can assume both form and suit_

_You come to fright us._

_**LAW** _

_A spirit I am indeed;_

_But am in that dimension grossly clad_

_Which from the womb I did participate._

_Were you a woman, as the rest goes even,_

_I should my tears let fall upon your cheek,_

_And say 'Thrice-welcome, burned Lamia!'_

_**LAMI** _

_My father had lens-glass upon his eyes._

_**LAW** _

_And so had mine._

_**LAMI** _

_And died that day when Lamia from her birth_

_Had number'd just eight years._

_**LAW** _

_O, that record is lively in my soul!_

_He finished indeed his mortal act_

_That day that made my sister just eight years.)_

 

-and now she’s turning and they're staring and- and now they’re hugging. Ah. Okay-? Oh! Oh, I got it. Twins.

Seems like everyone’s meeting people they were missing- or didn’t realize they were missing.

 

I got it.

I- I can’t remember why I was so afraid to have children, now. It’s not the- thing, with my name. I mean, everyone already knows, and- everyone loved me anyway. They came and faced down my worst nightmare; now, I know what’s real. These babies in my arms are real. Small fast heartbeats, warm weights in my arms; little animals that feel like- mine, and I don’t know how to explain that, or how I Know it’s true. I- I’m going to cry. I’m crying, and holding my babies, and crying.

Oh god, I’d break the goddamn World for these kids.

Shit.

Is- is this what it feels like to be Pops?

 

Oh hey- it’s uh, it’s Marco. He must be scouting for Pops. The atmosphere steadily gains a more party atmosphere. Moda snorts herself awake, because- Oh, Mab.

I smile at my sister, who smiles back, before she beckons Moda away to talk with her and the Pink Haired Woman- I feel like I should know who she is, something about ghosts, but I can only see her [ from the back ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/4a/9b/46/4a9b461b8d8dd0bd7fa653f4847b699d.jpg) . Mab and the two women bicker viciously, before Mab makes some kind of declaration, arms akimbo? Moda says something with vicious passion, [ blue rings ](http://www.marinebio.org/upload/_cephs/hapalochlaena-maculosa/3.jpg) slowly crawling over her eight long legs, pink skin going hot yellow where the blue touches- I’ve still got the babies, so I don’t- shit, I don’t even know how old they are. Not very, not and still this small-

Eventually, Theo starts whimpering, which seems to break the tension between the women and Moda seems to agree with Mab about something before rushing back over to feed the kids. She takes them from me with a smile, and I give her my spot and the extra pillow. She sings to them as they nurse, and it’s [ a song about seaweed- ](https://youtu.be/TLJmyUkJquU) how do I know that; Fae-blood, duh, it really does run true- and I sing along with her at the end, and I don’t know how I know the words I just know them. I just- Know them.

My singing neatly wakes up Spadey, who sits up with a yawn and a scuffle of his shaggy hair. He doesn’t comb his like mine- straight back from his forehead, no part down the middle like me. We’re still almost identical; he smiles a bit more quickly than I do, and his bearing is a hell of a lot more formal. Still, for all that, we have the same face. We have very nearly the same freckles- I still jolt when I see him. I can’t really imagine what it must be like for my crewmates to see him; they haven’t had nearly twelve hours to get used to him, after all. (I’ve had a bit less time to get used to my actual Name- Ash Aryell is how I would have written it, if I didn’t know better. That’s what my name actually sounds like; and it’s for that reason that Mab… my oldest little sister has a habit of nicknaming her family members. It’s a little weird, but kind of endearing, too; and **my** nickname is ‘Asher’. It makes sense- and it feels… good, when I hear her, or the rest of my sisters, or my brother use the nickname. It’s not really a name- but it feels… it feels Right.)

 

A loud gasp rings out of the piney woods we’re ringed by- my crewmates see me, and my brother.

 

I look at my crewmates. Through the various shrieks of joyful disbelief and the moaning of the cooks because “Oh my god, no, there’s two of him” and my Pops’ rumbling laughter, the thought bubbles up- ‘Thatch would have loved this; would have called it a great prank.’ I-

I’m most angry at Teach, Blackbeard- because he took Thatch away and he didn’t have to, he only had to ask. He just had to ask, and Thatch would have given the shitty fruit to him- breathe in- let it out. Not the time, Ace.

 

I look at Spadille, who is still a bit sleepy looking, but perking up as he sees that more people other than his crew, and allied crews and my, our, blood family are here, standing in the dawn’s light.

 

“Wanna go meet my crewmates? And my Pops?” I say.

“Hmm- sure, Asher. Sounds like fun.” he says.

 

So I go and introduce him to my crewmates, and Pops. Everything seems to be going well enough; people do a double take when they see me next to Spadey, and then they look oddly grateful for something. The ear-studs are a nice touch, and I’m honestly glad to share something with my twin brother and terrifying sister. Then Marco starts giving me shit about my doll, the doll my sister made for me, specifically. It’s a guard doll, it’s not dumb or childish it’s-

 

“It’s for protecting the memory of my mother, she’s not a toy!” I grumble at him. I’m not quite steamed, but-

“Oh? What’s she protecting then?” Marco smirks back.

 

I grit my teeth. I open the doll’s little bag, pull out the Tone Dial, and press the button. Let it rest in the flat of my hand. From the shell, [ a song- ](https://youtu.be/-NK9zdPj-os) and as I hear it, I know it is not of the sea. It’s too sweet, too calm, too quiet- to be of the Sea. No. This is a song of the Land.

The voice of a dead woman accompanied by a violin and guitar brings Marco to tears; brings everyone older than me to tears. Ah, I had forgotten- they knew Rouge too. (You can’t sing like that and play guitar and play violin, Ace.) I know it is my mother, Rouge, singing, sure as I knew the words to the song Moda sang for my babies, sure as I know they’re mine. Some things I just- know. And there’s no question about it. (It was kind of Trafalgar Law to do that blood test, but- I already knew, it wasn’t really… I didn’t need a test to know.) Marco looks past me, sees something that makes him look like a fish just popped him a good one in the mouth. Pops has covered his mouth with his hand, has hurriedly stood from his seat again- to the exasperation of his nurses. Whatever they're seeing is- behind me?

I turn.

I look.

And I see-

 

 

I’ve seen my mother’s bounty posters; I know what she looks like. The woman holding my sister, (I HAVE A SISTER) holding Mab’s hand, opening her eyes- she doesn’t look like my mother at all. She’s… too blonde, for one, my mother’s hair was pinker. A-and, and she’s too old, Rouge is forever frozen in the moment that picture was taken, she was only… only thirty, I think, when she- died. This woman is so much older, her skin is wrinkly around the eyes, her hands and her clothes are- sooty, like she works near fires, a forge; boots, and thick dark jeans tucked in, a shirt with seaweed printed on it and hair in long twists held back by a ragged bandanna.

I put the shell away, walk forwards a bit, stop. I don’t- I don’t know what to do.

My sister, Mab, does. (I have a twin, I have a sister, I have sisters, I have aunts and uncles and cousins- I- I know who I am. I always had some idea, but now- I Know.)

 

 

* * *

 

“Mom, Ace. Ace, Mom- um, Aunt Ravelle? I guess? Oh, and Spadey’s over there; you can tell one from the other because Ace is Magenta, and Spadey’s Cyan- I’m… I guess I’m Yellow?” Mom nods, smiling. “Also, Ace has kids.” I say. I’m babbling.

“H-hi.” says Ace. He’s nervous.

Mom takes him in. She’s a whirling spiral flurry of feelings, all bound up in her shadow until finally- “Mmm. You’re one of Rouge’s; I’d know those eyes anywhere.”

I know what she means- it’s not the color, it’s the shape. We all have them- [ even me ](http://www.hairfinder.com/celebrityhair/lucyliu7g.jpg), with my slightly more slanted eyes. We all more or less have the same nose- mine’s a little wider and flatter, more Soutern due to Kuzan- but it’s overall shape is basically the same.

 

Ace smiles, sort of. He’s very nervous.

“Well. I suppose you want to hear about your mother?” says Mom.

“I- um. Yes, if- if you don’t mind.” says Ace.

“Mm. G’wan and sit a spell with your sisters- GIRLS SIT DOWN AND HUSH UP, I’M ‘BOUT TO TELL Y’ALL A STORY ‘BOUT YER MAMA- Mab, get Jackie out of the tree, she keeps climbin’em but I’ve yet to see her come back down without landing on her- shit, too late. Check and see if she broke her nose again.” says Mom before she clamps her arm around Ace’s waist and starts leading him towards where the rest of our sisters are assembling on various barrels, boxes, and chairs.

 

“What, like her pride?” I say.

“Mava!” barks Mom.

“I’m going, I’m going!” I say.

 

(Tilly is folding up the Morgan quilt because she’s a damn treasure. I pop open the shadow-black compartment of my back, and tug Tigerlily in the right direction. She plops it in, and I let my bag make a gurgling swallowing noise to her general amusement.)

 

I bound over to Amberjack- Jackie, who has yet to climb a tree without falling on her face on the way down at this party. This time, she’s only managed to lightly smoosh her nose, it being a short fall. I untangle her poncho fringe from the branches.

 

“You find your name then?” says Amberjack.

“You wear ponchos now?” I snipe back.

“Haha, fuck you, Mab.” says Jackie with a grin.

 

We settle in with everyone else; us all together like this suddenly makes it really clear to anyone looking that Ace fits in with everyone in a way I don’t- my skin’s browner, my hair’s curlier, my eyes aren’t amber or silver they’re black-dirt brown. I’m not one of them, I’m only mostly one of them. I fit, but not all the way. I don’t think that would have changed, had things been different. Still- I… I think I’m pretty good looking, maybe? Even if I’m not like them.

Anyway, Mom’s talking.

 

“Now, this is the story of how y’alls mama got herself [ a colonoscopy ](https://youtu.be/CEp9oi1LVXw). I don’t remember why, but she had to get one and we was living together at the time- and this story really takes Rouge to tell right, but she ain’t here so I’m gonna. So here’s what happened- there are three steps to a colonoscopy; the pre surgery consultation which you do two or three weeks beforehand and my sister wasn’t really one to pay attention to such things… which explains what happened handily, I think.”

 

Oh no.

 

“Now, step two is the day before preparation, because they want you to be totally cleaned out afore they stick a camera attached to a garden hose up your rear and have a looksie. Now, I had bought everything my sister would need and laid it out real nice in the kitchen for her, but I wasn’t home to supervise because I thought- somehow- that my sister could handle her own preparations.”

 

Oh **no.**

 

“Now the first thing you’re supposed to do is mix sixty four ounces of Bananagatoraid with ten large packets of Mira-Lax. On the back of one normal packet of Mira-Lax, it’s printed out real big ‘May Cause Loose and Watery Stools’; ten large packs is enough to clean out the bilges of a full Blue’s fleet of ships- civillian, pirate, merchant, and bluebeak alike. Now, if Rouge had paid attention during her consultation, she’d have remembered that she was supposed to spread the sixty four ounces out over three and a half hours.”

 

Mom shakes her head.

 

“She didn’t remember that part. And because she didn’t remember that part, she mixed it all together and chugged it down in just under eight minutes. And I know that because she timed herself and told me about it.”

 

Somewhere in the crowd, doctors and nurses alike have already started sniggering because they know where this is going. I am one of them.

 

“At this point, the only thing left on the counter is a bottle of something called magnesium citrate. Two drops of that stuff will pull an island out of the sea. Now, some people, when doing this procedure, need half the bottle, and some need the whole bottle- but Rouge, being Rouge, didn’t believe in coming back later when she could just do it now. So she popped the top off, held her nose, and downed the whole thing.”

 

Mm **mph.**

 

“So at this point, my little sister has finished a procedure that’s supposed to take four and a half hours in just under ten minutes. Not long after that, her stomach started making some noises- you know the kind, like you’re in a haunted house and shit’s going ‘grrrrrrrrrruuuugh’ and ‘glaaaaaaaaaark’ and ‘run through the bowls run through the bowls run through the bowls’ and ‘hhhuuueearrrgh’ and ‘GEEEEET OUUUUT’; y’know the sounds where you look down to have a listen and your guts looks up at you and say ‘you need to run, jackass’.”

 

I am at this point curled over myself, hands over my mouth, giggling.

 

“The first volley took her feet out from under her. Rouge was physically afraid, and all she could think to do was grab onto the ‘big shit’ bars in the bathroom and hold on- which is, of course, what they’re there for. Rouge ended up passing everything she’d ever eaten in her entire life. She passed things she’d only thought about eating. She passed things our neighbors had eaten. She passed things I had eaten. That woman passed a red innertube we kept in the dinghy, how’d that get in there? I don’t know. And one hour later what was coming outta her was so pure, it could be legally declared fresh mountain spring water.”

 

At this point, I was laughing so hard I missed the rest- everything except the fart noise Mom made, which sent me directly back to the paroxysms of laughter when I thought I had a handle on it. Probably because I’m Unseelie, but trying to act Seelie when you’re really not- it’s. Stressful.

Ah, so I don’t forget- think of it like a blade. Seelie is the sharp edge, the part that shines and cuts. Captain is Seelie, Ace and Spadey too; Seelie people shine and shine and when you make them bend too far, they break and have to be reforged, and they’re never quite what they were. Unseelie is the spine of the blade, the part that supports the whole and keeps it from breaking with each cut. I’m Unseelie; Sanji and Zoro too. Although, I am making generalizations here- everyone has a little bit of both. It’s when you’re too much of one or the other that things go wrong.

Some people like being out in front; some people want to support. (Betweeners are where the nioi people sit; those people tend to be spiritual leaders and witches- or old. It’s right where the balance of the two states is; Danelphe and Granuna are Betweeners. So’s Aunt Zippy.)

We talk more, stories flowing- the Cattle-Raid of Cooley is where my namesake ended, and is of course, emblematic of the ancient Skuans. Most cultures write epic sagas about love and wars and romance and gods and The Great Struggle. We Skuans write epics about cattle thieves and teenage boy-heroes and people getting killed by hunks of cheese to their heads; men dying with foul deeds to be stood again as things they never were before, and all the changed for it.

 

Tally things up while everyone around you cackles hoots and howls- the Mountain was divided between Floria and Sargasso; Floria now sits on a platform that steadily rises above the sea in a perfect acoustic arrangement. Sargasso is now a complex archipelago of shipkilling islands that stretch from the normal Line to deep into Capricorna, just as Moda asked for. A Shallow Sea; a Solemn Stage. And an incredible weight off my mind, I swear.

The only things left are- right. Lami will do it because she’s his First Divison Commander, Lami, so Spadey’s ship is taken care of- and Mom is moving towards the food. I’ll ask her, eat, talk to Captain, nap, and then we should be good to do the working. Right? Right.

 

“Hey Mom.”

“Hey, Mab.”

“Um- I… I’m about peopled out; can you… can you give Ace his ship, talk to him about how to crew it? I-”

“...I can. I’m telling him who built it, but- yes, of course.”

“-Thank you. I’m going to eat this entire casserole, talk to captain, and then find somewhere to nap-”

“-Zippy’s grilling fish for you, and she’ll be real mad if you don’t eat all of it where she can see.”

“-Aw, Mom, Aunt Zippy always burns it though-”

“Mava, eat the fish-charcoal and be grateful.”

“...kay...”

 

I take the breakfast for dinner lasagne and a fork and my Aunt’s charcoaled fish and weave through the hungry horde to my Captain. He’s having a quiet chat with Silvers Rayleigh- I pause, grab two ‘full course’ plates for them- like lunch specials, extra meat for Captain, and three bottles of water, and cheerfully interrupt during a natural pause in their conversation.

 

“Snack time!” I grimly chirp.

“Yes! Sna- these are veggies?” says Captain.

“Whoops, that’s mine- this one’s yours, see, all meat-”

“Yeeeeeeees-”

“And yours is a bit more balanced, aye.”

“Thank you, Miss.”

“So- Mab, Old Ray says we’re not ready for the New World-”

“-Sounds about right, yeah.”

“Eh?!?”

“Captain, I was barely useful- I mean, I helped set up some things so we could get away, but… I killed Morgan, killed Akainu, and that was it for me after I stole that mountain. That’s not good enough for the New World. I’m also not in good enough shape for the New World- my skills are all rusty, and my spear technique could use some work. More importantly, it’s not just you and me on the crew- it’s everyone. Can you really say that everyone in our crew is ready for the New World?”

 

Captain eats half his barbecued ribs, thinking carefully. His glasses are on the brim of his hat, his book folded over a dry seagull feather, marking his place; his mouth is smeared with barbecue sauce. I eat half my breakfast veggie and fruit lasagne, drink the water, pass the men theirs. Eat the fish in one bite and immediately regret it because it’s all greasy soot and good intentions- Aunt Zippy can cook any meat, but she always burns fish, and I, of course, can’t eat most meats, they genuinely make me sick to my stomach. Swallow the care, Mab. Urrgh. Rest on my haunches and try really really hard not to pass out.

 

“So- there’s something I’m still confused about, Mab.”

“Mm?”

“You killed Aradia?”

“Yep.”

“Then- sorry, but… I don’t understand how Spadille, your brother, could also be Aradia, the woman who tried to kill you.”

“Well, for one thing, in Skua we don’t have okama, we have transvestites- it’s a different philosophy. Okama is all about performance in a bombastic style; skuan transvestites just… kinda want to dress like women and be pretty? There’s some that also want to be women- but that’s not really what you’re asking, is it?”

“No.”

“How many Fairy Tales do you know, Captain?”

“Zoro’s told me a few, but… Not that many, really.“

“Hmm. Alright-” My bag bounds over, wiggling like an excited puppy. Captain giggles.

I pat my bag. “Sit. Good bag.”

“Shishishishishishi.”

“Hmhmhmhmhmhm. Now- watch.”

 

I open the shadow-compartment and lift out- puppets, a candle.

[I tell the story.](https://youtu.be/vqyVElvBtE8)

An’ the wheel bends, an’ the story ends. Eyes in the darkness shining yellow- Taffy?

 

“Mab-mama, can I ask some things, and say some others?”

“Of course, Taffy.”

“Hm- do you know how we got here? Not- not the clay of our bodies, not people, but- us? The us-es that exist when we live, and vanish when we stop? Did we get put here, or did we just- happen?”

“I don’t know, Taffy. It seems most likely to me that we just happen; I know I did not put you in there. I do not posses that power- or I did not, then; and now, I would not dare use it, if I have such. Not- not so they're real.”

“Mm. Yis, then- when we die, do you think we go somewhere, or do we just- stop?”

“I don’t know that either. It seems unlikely, but- if we just happen, it makes more sense to me that we should continue happening, even after the clay goes cold.”

“Yis. Seems unlikely, yis. ...Do you suppose snakes have souls?”

“...I hope so.”

“Me too. Snake was a good snake, even if she was a grumpy-snoot.”

“Mm.”

“I’m sorry about your snake, Taffy.” says Luffy, very gently. Taffy was very upset when the sea krait we pulled up that one week died a few days later. Hadn't wanted to talk to a snake since.

“Yis, me too, Captain. But she was very old when we met, so.” says Taffy.

“What brought this on, Taff?” I say.

“Yis, mm- I was sitting by the pine tree over there, and a snake with big black eyes said ‘Hello, Girl’ and I say back ‘Hello, Snake’ because snakes just call themselves Snake and know who they are otherwise. I did not think anything of it, I just did it. Yis, I just did it.”

“Ah.” says both Luffy and I.

“-I’m sorry about your Mother, Mab-mama.”

“Yeah, me too.” says Luffy.

“You wanna know what I think about it?” says Taffy.

“Ah, sure Taffy.” I say.

“Mm. Su-mama told me about something like this when I was really little- sometimes, not often but sometimes, a mama will have her babies and look at them and feel- nothing. And sometimes it just means the mama will ignore her babies, and sometimes it means the mama will kill them and eat them. Because when she looks at them, she feels- nothing. It’s why mama’s aren’t supposed to have their babies alone, because there’s always a chance that they’ll look and feel nothing. Morgan was very alone for a long time, huh?”

“Ah…?”

“Well. She loved Rouge, and Rouge loved her, and Rouge picked Roger, and then they both died. And Morgan didn’t have Rouge to love anymore, and Roger died too. Rouge was the good half of Morgan’s heart, and Roger held an echo of that half, and with both of them gone… And of course, everyone else wasn’t inside with them, so she couldn’t turn to them. Or they turned away from her. The people she wanted most were gone, and the people who could have helped her a little bit had turned away, would not help- could not see past their own selves and do the job that was needed of them. Couldn’t bear to suffer, and do it all the same.”

 

Taffeta looked at Silvers Rayleigh when she said those last things. And Rayleigh was- ashamed. He could not meet her calm yellow black-ring fox eyes. Not accusatory- but seeing. Witnessing.

Being looked at and **seen,** for all that you are and aren't, is sometimes the very worst thing you can have happen to you. Morgan almost never saw me- but at the end, she did. It was terrible.

 

“This is what I think happened- I think Roger asked Morgan to protect Rouge and his children, and Morgan agreed. I think that the Marines knew Morgan and Roger were friends, of some kind yis. Morgan loved Roger, too, as much as she could; because she loved Rouge. She joined the Warlords, and when the time came to hunt Roger’s children down, she went first to lead the Hounds astray. A fox will run as well as a hound, but you’ll never get it to course. An’ when it were done, broken nests in her wake, Rouge would not have Morgan again. But Morgan the Fae Promised. And so- she took Spadille, but did not see Ace.

Rouge must have fled, then, because- aye, though I am young, I know enough to know there are places in this world where, though they are not seen- for the Earth and the Sky and the Sea have swallowed them- I know there are still places where the blood of the world pulses close to the surface. I know that there are some places where the blood of the world pulses fiercely, and some where it is slow- and Rouge must have fled to such a place, to a place where those who had defiled themselves in the blood of children could not tread. Why else then did Morgan not find her again, yis? Aye, Rouge must have fled to such a place, yis. Garp, for all his shitty faults, has never defiled himself such, and so found Rouge on the verge of death, yis, and when she died, Garp took Ace, yis, and… Morgan must have known. She must have, else- else why did they stop hunting Ace? You hunt your prey until it dies, until you kill it, and they must have been watching Morgan, and-” says Taffy.

 

I just look at her. From a distant place a woman screams with anguish because all is lost, all is lost, her oaths lain, broken, and all is lost- and she cannot go home, they won't let her back in. ([Weile Weile Waila; Down by the river Saile!](https://youtu.be/H1dOreGykiM))

 

“She must have decided that she failed her promise then, and- after a fairy breaks a promise, they go mad. And she went mad again when she killed… killed-”

“His name was Oberon.” I say.

“Ah. I’m sorry about that too.” says Taffy.

“Thank you.” I say.

“Yis. Is a sad story, a sad life. I’m sorry she had it, but I’m glad it’s over for her. Yis, I am glad it ended. I am glad you ended her, Mab Tailor.” says Taffy.

“Me too, Dracule Taffeta.” I say.

Taffy nods. Stands, hand on Kusanagi’s hilt, thrust through her plain belt. And then she wanders off again.

 

 

Captain waits until she’s gone to speak. While he waits, I hand Silvers Rayleigh a hanky so he can cry in peace, not get snot all in his face-hairs. What even is that, a beard?

 

“You know, I always forget that she sees so clearly.”

“It’s because she’s so quiet, normally. Doesn’t really say much, our Taffeta.”

“No. Plays lots of pranks, but- and I guess her sword eggs her on when she uses it like- that-”

 

Taffeta is using her sheathed sword to scratch an itchy spot in the middle of her back. This is not the first time she’s done this.

 

“Yep. I’ve heard her, sometimes- the sword, I mean.”

“Me too, Captain.”

“Kusanagi’s Voice is very… green.”

“Yes, it is.”

“-Taffy’s not really strong enough for the New World.”

“No.”

“She’s very strong. But- that was the only time I’ve ever seen her use her sword-”

“Mm. She only started learning sword-fighting with a live blade, what, two months ago?”

“-Yeah, that’s about right. And… she’s not a sword fighter.”

“No. She’s a ninja, Captain, her first instinct will never be to kill her opponent. She’s not ready.”

 

Old Ray is shaking. I look at Luffy, who looks at Old Ray and back at me, then switches spots. I lay a cool hand upon his shoulder. He catches my hand in his, squeezes just a hair too tight for a moment; then he realizes just who’s hand he’s holding. I weave our fingers together. I hand him another hanky, as the first one is too tear-wet and snot-slimed to be of use. He takes it, and weeps all the harder for it. Ah. So that's how it is, then. Taffy isn't one to play games; Taffy will wait for just the right moment, then strike; and when she strikes she does not hold back, or miss. She's like me that way.

Captain speaks again.

 

“And- Mark’s not all that strong either. He’s strong enough to keep Marine ships out of our way, but he’s been passed out ever since we got here.”

“No, he’s not all that strong; and yes, he has. He’s still not all that comfortable being a person and not a ship, Captain. He might never be.”

“Mm. Bryony is too strong- or at least she thinks she is. She’s afraid of her strength; s’why she sits herself out.”

“Mhm. That’s something that will only change with experience, I’m sorry to say.”

“And- you’re tired, huh. I mean-”

“I just killed my own mother, Captain. I’m a bit tired, yeah.”

“And… the Kids need some training, huh.”

“Mm.”

“...Everyone needs to train some, huh.”

“I would like to train some, yeah.”

 

Captain eats his chickens and his quails and his grouse. Attwell, my sister, throws three apples at my face, which I catch on instinct. I pass the two extras out, eat mine in about three bites. Old Ray is still holding my hand, but takes the apple. He eats his in small bites, lets go of my hand to rub his tears away. I hug him around his shoulders, pat him on the back.

They were his friends. And now, they're gone.

 

“Rushing never got anyone anywhere fun-”

“-true-”

“-and I do like learning new things, aye.”

“So…?”

“So, I’m training with Old Ray for the next two years or so- can you tell our crewmates to meet back up in Sabaody two years from- what, is today new years? First of January?”

I check. “Mm- Yep. Can everyone have two weeks to actually get there, when the time comes?”

“Sure.”

“Okay. I’ll tell everyone, aye. You want me to close up the ship, make sure everything gets taken care of?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Mab. -Hah, and today’s Ace’s birthday, too. Just remembered.”

“Mhm. Of course, Luffy. Spadey’s was yesterday. Never forgot.”

“Wait… Ace isn’t the oldest?”

“Mmmnope.”

 

And Captain grinned in the way younger siblings do when the tables have finally turned on their elders.

 

 

“So, knowing us, there’s a good chance it’ll be too dangerous for you to go find everyone- and we should maybe distract the Marines from what happened to Mariejois until it’s too late- they’ll want to chase the pirates here, and I’m not really willing to let them.”

“Go on.”

“And- You know Spadey- I know Ace. They’re gonna want to do a memorial for their mom, it’s...”

“Mm. I might join them, actually.”

“For Rouge?”

“For Morgan.”

 

Captain Looks at me.

I Look back, unashamed.

 

“Ignoring the fact that Morgan has been mourning Rouge for my entire life so far; literally the past twenty years- You heard the recording, right? The one Ace played?”

 

Captain nods.

 

“Can’t play a violin and sing at the same time, Captain; and Mama Rouge only sang the song. Mama Rouge only **sang.** Roger played guitar- not very well, but he did; and Mother Morgan played violin. It’s- don’t you ever tell Ace that unless he asks first, you understand? Spadey either, they have to want to know first.”

“I won’t, Mab.”

“Thank you, Luffy. ...Dracule Mihawk was telling the truth; Morgan wasn’t always bad. I exist- she couldn’t have been always… bad. Rouge loved her, and Roger trusted her- she could not have always been... So- well. So there. And it’s not like anyone else is going to, wants to, or could. Anyway- I’m going to take a nap, haven’t slept in days- and then I’ll be turning Morgan’s bones to gold, as is proper. Let Ace and Spadey know, aye?”

“Aye. Get some sleep, Mab.”

 

I leave my Captain, go and curl up on the Portgas quilt, and am eventually joined by my brothers- Spadey, and Ace. Spadey ends up being the living pillow for all our sisters, while Ace is eventually snuggled up with Moda, his babies, and his brothers, Luffy and Sabo. We sleep until the middle of that afternoon.

It is a good sleep.

 

 

 

“Children, it’s time to get up. Thy mother’s bones lay untended; her soul cannot rest until she is scrimshawn.”

 

My eyes snap open, and I’m sat up before I fully realize that it’s Mom who spoke. She’s right, of course. I stand, stretch, and daintily step around my siblings; they’re all awake too, even sleepy Ace. We stand and move a bit silently- around us swirls the party but we are silent as stones. In our wake- silence, curiosity. Someone calls out to Ace, but he says nothing- shakes his head, jerks his chin to say ‘come on, then’; we are followed by few, then many.

Gable folds the Portgas quilt and carries it and hands it to Aunt Zippy; I reach into my bag and pull out the shroud, wrapped around it’s bundle. All my bugs are industrious and very fast working; there’s no flesh or marrow left, only bones. This cannot be done by anything except hand; this is not something to rush. I do so like being prepared- my crewmates have their shrouds, and when I decided to kill Morgan, I made for her a shroud; every year I did not manage it, I added another ring of beauty to the white, white cloth. It was left in my room in at my moms, and now it is returned to me, edged in the Royal Silver. It’s not Flevance white, a bleached and poisonous white, but the white of clouds on a summer’s day; fluffy soft and shining. Seelie, as Morgan never quite was.

 

Morgan was Nioi, one who stood between. -Liminal, that’s the word I was wanting earlier.

 

Spadille of the Crossed Roads walks first, followed by Ace of the Crossed Swords; I follow, Mab the Fox, then Ezra the Gentle, Ophiuchus the Sunny, Amberjack the Fish, Attwell the Moony, Gable of the House of Dreamspinner, Ciconia the Stork, Felix the Cat, Dory the Ship, and Tigerlily the Bouquet de Fleur.

My mother, Morgan, is small- she seemed a massive beastly woman, but she’s small, smaller than I am; bound in her white shroud, only bones, stitched with birds-in-flight- she is smaller still. The Line of Us proceeds from the springy glade of pines where our families have come to revel, and go down a switchback trail to a cliff, and finally to the sea, where the ocean crashes upon a stony shore. There is a wide, flat rock that Spadey leads us to; overlooking it is [ a woman with serpents for hair](https://fishofgold.files.wordpress.com/2012/10/medusa.jpg). Though her serpentine curls are wroth and thrashing, her face proper is grim, and sad, and mournful; striking in it’s beauty and strength and sorrow.

I lay Morgan’s shroud out on the basalt stone, and unwrap her, revealing her soft white frailty- so frail in death, ere she never was in life. Small and frail and dead, on the white sheet. We circle her bones, link hands. I can only hear the sea, the soft cries of seabirds, the quiet rustle of nosey pirates. Spadille looks at me, nods.

I nod back, and speak.

 

“We have come this sol-tide to pray for our Mother; as [ the Wheel](http://images.mentalfloss.com/sites/default/files/styles/insert_main_wide_image/public/1000px-wheel_of_the_year.svg_.png) turns, so do we link together in a great chain’d Line. For our Mother has died; and so we pray for her.

I do not know if there is a God. It seems unlikely.

I do not know if our mother, Morgan, had a soul. It seems unlikely.

I know she had- a presence, she was a person- but… People are Complicated; and above all, our Mother was just a person. In the course of her life, Morgan did evil things- and good things, too. She was a human being, and flawed; and now, she is gone from us.

I don’t know if there’s anything for us after death. We in Skua speak of the Wheel, of becoming more continually, moving in circles ever onwards and changing as we go; but there is a darkling veil over the edge of the World through which my gaze does not pierce. This, the Last Great Sea, to which we all sail; Morgan, in all her facets and faults, seelie and unseelie, has passed through that veil and into that Sea, and I don’t know what lies beyond it for her.

Thus, my prayer: I pray there is a god. I pray my mother, Morgan, has a soul. I pray her soul- wherever it has gone, for it is gone beyond my sight, if it does exist- I pray Morgan’s soul finds a measure of contentment and peace, no matter where it goes. This, I pray.”

 

And my siblings say “Aye.”

 

 

Our hands, linked together, turn blackshining and the shining darkness flows up and over our shoulders, through wings and skin and down our spines, down our legs and circling again between us. And then, together, we reach out and touch her, our central point- an’ her the hub, we the spokes of the Wheel. We cover her bones; we scrimshaw them. And then- adornments; charnellements, revealed in the dying light. Earrings only, twelve sets; meant for each of us alone. Spadey’s are [ blue lily-flowers](https://gyazo.com/325b0090b525c5ed02ab2afb4e683d60). Ace’s are [ red anemone-flowers](https://gyazo.com/d9471678c96a86fbf1a584c914e41ea8), cupped in black petals. Mine are purple, and draped like tears, and [ gently weaving with clouds](https://gyazo.com/4098809d44ee6d9aaccfad7847e28da5). Ezra’s are shaped as mine are, but [ covered in blue anemones](https://gyazo.com/2b9853c347ee57460c3f85766d110d2f); dignified, delicate, wealthy. Ophiuchus’ is slightly different; covered in [ daisy-flowers and a single brilliant butterfly](https://gyazo.com/e2e543103144ee36b673380a89e28503), the heralds of curiosity. Amberjack has [ a pair of two colored fish](https://gyazo.com/88c38513c8cabe1e6373a198b7fd6f49), coiling on themselves in roiling tangles; good humored, laid back. Attwell has a pair shaped like ponds, [ a trio of roses and a brilliant butterfly](https://gyazo.com/130ba092dceb0c8c26337ee34f6aefab) floating within; the heralds of the future, the confluence of time. Gable- ah, so it’s her; she has the [ pink and purple flowers](https://gyazo.com/8314ca57d2e17c2f5659d07837fbd4cd) of the princess-to-be-queen. Ciconia, a wading field, [ the red swamp- the red and blue butterfly](https://gyazo.com/7d85bff841da30a50c1496fc6d2ccd2a) of scholar’s delight. Felix has rippling cloth, or [ swirling feathers](https://gyazo.com/578b3372bf344a8ccf02118ecc0884b8), or a storm; chaos and order. Dory has [ an anchor patterned with five-petaled red flowers and dainty leaves](https://gyazo.com/e6b13798f70d679fb2f053266c1838ca); strange adventures, stranger stories. Tigerlily, youngest and fiercer than perhaps any other, has [ a golden dragon weaving over a green field](https://gyazo.com/d6e3f30b510193d10a61d09a1f975218); the very Wind itself, over the World.

 

We each of us reach out and take our adornments, hook them in our ears; our mother’s [ jewelled cloth-and-bone corpse](http://i2.cdn.cnn.com/cnnnext/dam/assets/131204144812-st-luciana-heiligkreuztal-germany-heavenly-bodies-horizontal-large-gallery.jpg) lies resplendent in the dying light. There are soft gasps, steadily growing into murmurs and short screams. Ah- right. Most people don’t know what Fairies do with their dead- they know we do something, but they don’t know what. I suppose Conis was right, all that time ago- we use gold in Skua for certain things, but Vearth is far more precious.

I don’t think people really get why Fairies get so furious if our treasure- our gold, our gems, our jewelry, is stolen. People seem to think a Fairy Hill is just a hill full of treasure, gold and gems and things. They’re not. Those are tombs.

I wasn’t going to kill Nami, back in Floria, because she was stealing- I was going to kill her because of what she would have stolen. Floria is known by another name, after all, which I remember now- the Charnel Village; a grave place. Charnel adornments are never sold excepting under dire circumstances; there is many a fae who would rather die than be without their charnellements. And the habit of tucking our dead, all adorned and clean into the hills is older than our living in the sky- older than Queen Ariel.

 

Spadille knows the protocol for this as well as I do- better, even, he actually passed his Ancestral Theology classes. (I had an average of 0.06 in that class, but they can only throw you out if you actually **fail** and in the Skuan Education system, failure is a 0.00. Perfect attendance and participation, my friend. I could also do the tedious paperwork correctly and knew all the in’s and outs of the library archives.)

So it’s Spadey that calls **Mór-ríoghain, Mór-ríoghain, Mór-ríoghain** ; and it’s Spadey that says the quiet words; and it’s Spadey who offers Death’s Rider the bones of our Mother. Granuna takes the golden bones in their shroud, and the small green fuzzy black-curl covered mallow I hand to her, Morgan’s Fate unbound in Death as it could not have been in life, and she smiles her terrible smile, the smile of that darkling veil beyond which mine eyes daren’t pierce. With a great onrushing of wings over the Sea she is gone, gone, gone from our sight. In the wake of her passing rises a wave, blue-black and terrible; but we, being Fae, stand tall and let the flowing waters cleanse us of our filth. We have death-cooties all over us, it stands to reason we’d need a rinse in the sea-salt water.

Seven seconds under the salty wave; seven seconds in the clear; seven seconds to dry.

And it’s done.

 

Turn your face towards the sun, Mab. Our shadows fall behind us; we all feel the fading light. [ Goodbye, Morgan... Goodbye, Mother. ](https://youtu.be/J-7N5t2MUdU)

 

 

Anyway, after that, Easy brought out the [ Snake Juice](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/3/3d/Habushu.jpg). I blame what happened after the actual Funeral Rites on hard, mildly poisoned, liquor. And the Morgan Pugnacity; just like every Portgas who has ever lived has been a stubborn, suspicious son of a gun, every Morgan has been ready to fight goddamn anyone at any time, let’s fucking go asshole. I’ll kick your ass. I’ll kick your Pop’s ass. I’ll kick your ship’s ass. God knows we kick our own asses…

Anyway, we were all halfway through our individual bottles of Snake Juice when it happened.

 

 

“Um.”

“Ah, Chiarete. Trafalgar Lami; I was wondering when you’d get the nerve to speak to me.”

“Um. I- I don’t… I made [this.](https://img0.etsystatic.com/119/0/11828869/il_570xN.859027156_19bq.jpg) I’m- sorry. For everything that happened that happened to you After, and my part in it.”

 

I look at the ring; simple blue flower, pearl in the center- ah, right, Flevance used mother of pearl in their charnellements. Most Norten countries have some kind of charnellement, in response to Skua’s dominion over the north so long ago. I take it; I examine it. Ah, Puck. I can justify it any way I want to- you’d have been born with brittle bones, you’d have died soon after I had you, and on and on and on- but I still am saddened by your passing, and I always will be. Oh, there’s a little chain- perfect. I put the necklace on, tuck it beneath my shirt.

I look Trafalgar Lami in her burning hotel broken-glass grey eyes. We’ve been friends for a long time- we don’t need words to speak, sometimes. Like this time, actually.

 

‘I know what you did, and I know why you did it- but have a care. It’s not really in my nature to be forgiving; but, for you, I will forgive this once. Just this once. Should you do what you did to me again, Trafalgar Lami, I will not hold myself back from harming you; and I will not miss twice.’

‘I understand, Mab Tailor. Thank you for your forgiveness.’

 

“Thank you, Lami.” I look her up and down.

Then I stop.

 

“Lami, what are **those?”** I’m half grinning.

 

“My shoes? Uh- they’re called [ cruggs ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/27/fb/33/27fb33a600eee0f0dd168d0a3e4b2797.jpg). Real conversation starters, huh?” She’s fully grinning.

 

I- I- I can’t, shit, sorry. Can’t do it.

I slug Lami as hard as I can in the gut.

 

“THOSE ARE SOMETHING TO HAVE WORDS OVER, AYE. LAMI, THOSE ARE THE STUPIDEST MOST GODDAMN USELESS SHOES I’VE EVER SEEN IN MY LIFE!” I shout, joyfully.

 

Lami pops one, two, three kicks to my face. They’re soft, gentle taps, mostly meant to annoy- if she meant to kill me, she’d have kicked my head clean off.

 

“YOU’RE JUST JEALOUS OF MY AMAZING SHOE IDEA!” she crows back.

“NO I AM NOT BECAUSE THOSE ARE A STUPID SHITTY SHOE IDEA-” I shriek-

“-Mab are you sure Floria will be- HOLY FUCK WHY LAMI, WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT-” wails Perona with glee.

“THEY DON’T KEEP YOUR FEET WARM-” I snort.

“SO UGLY-” Perona sneers.

“THEY AREN’T SUPPORTIVE IN ANY MEANINGFUL WAY-” I hoot.

 **“-STYLISTICALLY INCOHERENT-”** Perona hollers.

“FUCKING FIGHT ME IF THEY’RE SO BAD THEN-” Lami cackles.

“FINE!” I grin.

“FINE!” Lami grins.

“FINE!” Perona grins.

 

And that’s how my mother’s funeral really ended, just as she would have wanted; in a three way  brawl- at which I was just a bit tipsy, I was not drunk- that quickly encompassed all my sisters, my captain, both my brothers, and Sabo who I’m going to consider a distant cousin. After that, ringing the Ox Bell on Marineford was really just a formality. It did let everyone scatter back out though, so that was nice. (And the Field of Battle was easily tended to, once I remembered what the scriptures had said about the true powers of the Shadow. “For, as no man is erased from the memory of time; but lives for-ever in it’s Shadow. So, then, is the power of the Queen of the Dead.” **Shadow Stitching: Backstitch!** is not to be used lightly.)

 

Atty’s prophecies that day numbered three: The first, she gave to Spadey.

 

“You have forgotten who you are, and what you want. Seek your heart again, and know your own mind- before you seek your Dreams, else it comes to ruin in your hands. Seek strength of the body in Death’s fields; seek strength of the mind in Lost Forests; seek strength of heart and character in School. You have much to learn before it will be well to seek your Dreams again.”

 

The second, she gave to Ace.

 

“You are stubborn and pugnacious; tenacious and ferocious. So far in your life, you have gotten by without having to truly master your great rage, but this will not always be so. Take heed; your foul moods will harm the innocent and those you love dearly, before long. Seek the teachings of the Queen of Swans before such comes to pass- or her teachings after such comes to pass the first time. If you do not, your rage will consume you, like the flame consumes the wood and the forest and the World, left unchecked.”

 

And the third, she gave to Ol’ Popstache Whitebeard himself.

 

“OI! You, with the mustache! Aye, you, Captain Edward Newgate- you shall not die in battle, but flat on your back, and bootless. You shall die only after having attained a very great age indeed, but none of the infirmities therein; you shall hand your great power over to your beloved grandson, and having done so, greet Death as a friend. Together, you and Death will depart this world- equals, forever. You will die surrounded by **all** your family: the one you found, and the one you made, and the one that found you, and the one that made you; and, your Dream fulfilled, you will die. Rejoice, for you shall have lived a happy life; be at peace, for your days to come are more full of joys than sorrows. For there is no such thing as a “Good” Death; Death is not beholden to good, or bad. Death just **is.** It is the Fate of all who live to one day meet it; but take heart, old man! For your Death is not to come for many years yet. I can’t say for exact sure- eeh, decades maybe? Decades. You’ve got at least fifty more years, maybe more.”

 

For me, all she had was a hug- but that’s alright. I’d honestly rather have a slightly misty and damp hug from Attwell than a guaranteed-accurate Prophecy.

 

 

As for my crewmates and siblings, their scattering was thus:

 

Mark, after waking up and eating something, went with Sabo- said he needed to check the home farm on Sunny, then the annual Djinn meetup was happening on Baltigo this year. I didn’t ask too many questions. Spadey said he couldn’t possibly be joining with Whitebeard, he’d crowd his brother. Said he had business with the Revolutionaries anyway, and Sabo grinned like a fiend. I’m sure they’ll have fun.

 

Bryony befriended a pair of flying [ coral snake-eels, ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/08/76/ad/0876adf83b308937ff4dc0118fd0af8e.jpg) which are several orders more deadly than regular coral snakes and regular eels combined. She said she could commune with them the same as she could snails, and besides, these were just babies anyway. (On closer inspection, she's quite correct. Oh boy.) Named them Sweet and Sour. Said something about hanging out with Moda; said they’d need some help coordinating everything. I said for her to have fun, and call if she needed help. Jinbe- who was there the whole time, good **god** , I **was** tired- said he’d accompany Commander Moda, if she was amenable. Moda agreed, in her cheerful way.

 

Taffy befriended a [ boomslang ](https://image.shutterstock.com/z/stock-photo-a-green-boomslang-snake-slithering-up-a-reed-8086651.jpg) she calls Snake and is staying on Amazon Lily to train with Kusanagi, Snake, and the Amazons. Said she’d learn the language of grass and serpents; said she’d learn to fly with her own two wings. I said to her “Good Luck”, and left her to it. I’ll check on her more often than the others, I think; flying is dangerous, hard work. Luffy-captain said he’d be on an island nearby, and he’d make a point to check on her now and again too. I gave Silvers Rayleigh a hug, which nearly sent him into tears again, but he took the third hanky I pressed on him without much fuss. There there, old man.

 

Mostly I remember hugging my brothers goodbye, our arms wrapped around each other, our charnellements clinking together for a moment- mournful chimes- and then they were gone, and Captain was hugging me goodbye, and he was gone, and my sisters scattered themselves to the wind- though Gable said she’d be taking over as Grana Line to me, which I gave my blessing for, and Tigerlily said she’d be calling on me as an alumnus of the Engineering school, and my other sisters made arrangements for me to visit them or just invited me to, and then I took my Mom back to her forge and, and I gave Moda her pennywhistle before I forgot and she left too and then-

 

Then, I was the only one left on the beach of Amazon Lily.

 

 

 

(Now here’s the problem. I can’t just go to Sanji like I want, I’ll- It’s been half a year, and he said he wasn’t ready to have kids, so- Chopper. And I need to pack up the ship first anyway, so- Back to the Sunny. Since I’m closing her up for habitation, I’ll need to take- oh, she’s still called Purple, Franky really took to the pink Shearwing for Taffy, but I’ll take her to the drydock on Angel Island and get her refitted for long distance pelagic travel. Training trip? -and I need to pack for training, work out a schedule for visits, and- consider the order I’ll be stopping in on my siblings, now that Morgan’s dead and can’t stop me. And also the order for my crewmates’ visitation, as I want to make sure myself that they’re all not naked, dead, naked and dead, naked or dead, and have the option for sending letters via me, dedicated crewmate. Captain never said I couldn’t, and it’s not like if we ever have to disband for real I’ll stop talking to them. Hm.

I might have a taste for- I think- then, when all is prepared, I’m going to have sex with my husband until we both pass out. Ohohoho yes I am. M-maybe talk to him about feelings, too? I- I missed him. So much.

So, so much.

I’m going to bring him to screaming orgasm so many times he passes out. I’ve never managed it with a man before and I want to see what that’s like.)

 

 

I’m ready for Adventure, now.

Onwards, oneiroi!


End file.
